1 



c 4 



^/""^^^^l y 




GUNDERODE. 



CORRESPONDENCE 



OF 



FRAULEIN GUND ERODE 



•'Our communion was sweet, — it was the epoch in which I first became con- 
scious of myself." 

• l The kingdom in which we met sank down like a cloud, parting to receive us to 
a secret Paradise: — there all was new — surprising, but congenial to spirit and 
heart; and thus the days went by." 




AND 



BETTINE VON 



ARNIM. 




T. O. 



BOSTON: 
H. P. BURNHAM. 

M.DCCC.LXI. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 

T. 0. H. P. BURNHAM, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 




RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 



This translation is offered to the public with diffidence, for 
the task is one of great difficulty. The original is not a work 
subject to the canons of literary criticism, but a simple prod- 
uct of private relations. Its negligent- familiarity is one of 
its chief charms, but one difficult to reproduce without in 
some degree offending established rules of taste. 

The letters are published, to judge from appearances, as 
they were thrown off at the moment, in haste and girlish free- 
dom. Many passages are obscure, others are wordy, yet in 
such wise that it is dangerous either to make clear or com- 
press. In such cases the translator has been content with 
the strictest verbal fidelity possible to her apprehension of 
these passages. Mistakes may, probably, exist, for often the 
meaning of sentences is only to be explained by a general 
view of the writer's mode of thought ; at other times, local- 
ities, or shades of meaning, dependent on peculiar circum- 
stances, may have been misunderstood. I had not the 
advantage of consulting any person who could aid me from 
an intimate knowledge of the influences under which the 
two girls lived, and my doubts have been more frequent than 
in any book I ever read. Still, I hope, it will be seen that 
the translation retains the delicate lineaments of the original. 
It ought, — for their beauty has been keenly felt by the 
interpreter. 

a * 



vi 



PREFACE. 



I cannot hope to please those who know how to prize the 
naivete of Bettine's own German-English. To invent such 
a dialect requires her peculiar genius and devotion to the 
task. I cannot boast of having " pried all day for the fit 
word " with such zeal as to force it to come to my pillow. 
Neither have I sought, with bigoted precision, to render 
these wild graces of style, willing or unwilling, into pure 
English, which many persons wish the translator to do at any 
sacrifice. The exact transmission of thought seems to me 
the one important thing in a translation; if grace and purity 
of style come of themselves, it is so much gained. In trans- 
lating, I throw myself, as entirely as possible, into the mood 
of the writer, and make use of such expressions as would 
come naturally, if reading the work aloud into . English. The 
style thus formed is at least a transcript of the feelings ex- 
cited by the original ; and is a likeness, if a caricature. Such 
translations please me best, — foreign works " done into Eng- 
lish," as was the simple phrase of an earlier day, when the 
preservation of thought was the grand object. Now, people 
are as impatient of peculiarity in style, as in dress or man- 
ners. 

All who read this translation should turn again to the 
story of the friendship between Bettine von Arnim and the 
Canoness Giinderode ; (Correspondence with a Child, p. 50.) 
Apparently the letters were written in the years 1805-6. 
But it w r as not until long after, at the request of Goethe, that 
Bettine was induced to " make a perfectly free confession " 
as to the date of a letter. 

A single page of Bettine's give some notion of her fresh, 
fragrant, and vigorous genius. But a character like Giin- 
derode's, of such subtile harmonies, and soft aerial grace, can 
only be descried through multiplied traits. She is a soul so 
delicately apparelled, a woman so tenderly transfigured, that 
the organs made use of to observe common mortals, seem 
to need refining in her own atmosphere, before they can 



PREFACE. 



vii 



clearly appreciate her. And, after all. as the loveliest woman 
is better seen in the love she inspires in some heroic man 
than in anything done or said by herself, so we see Giinde- 
rode even better in her influence on Bettine than in her own 
letters. Bettine is indeed a child by her side, the pupil 
forming beneath her religious care, a worshipping child be- 
fore the veiled Madonna beauty of her spirit. 

If the " Correspondence with a Child " was offered "to the 
Good, not to the Bad." this no less requires the same prefix. 
To those who have eyes to see. and hearts to understand the 
deep leadings of the two characters, these pages present a 
treasury of sweetest satisfactions, of lively suggestions : — to 
the obtuse, the vulgar, and the frivolous, they will seem sheer 
folly, the cobweb tissues of a misled fancy, the bubbles on 
waters yet undrained. They will be much or nothing to the 
reader, according to the degree in which he has sought, felt, 
and lived a pure, a private, and an aspiring life. 



As many readers may be unacquainted with the name of 
Gunderode, the following extract is given from an article in 
the " Dial," No. VII., entitled " Bettine Brentano and her 
Friend Gunderode." 

"But the letters to Goethe are not my present subject; 
and those before me, with the same merits, give us no cause, 
however trifling, for regret. They are letters which passed 
between Bettine and the Canoness Gunderode, the friend to 
whom she was devoted several years previous to her ac- 
quaintance with Goethe. 

" The readers of the 6 Correspondence with a Child ' will re- 
member the history of this intimacy, and of the tragedy with 
which it closed, as one of the most exquisite passages in the 
volumes. The filling out of the picture is not unworthy the 
outline there given. 

" Gunderode was a Canoness in one of the orders described 
by Mrs. Jameson, living in the house of her order, but mix- 
ing freely in the w T orld at her pleasure. But, as she was eight 
or ten years older than her friend, and of a more delicate and 
reserved nature, her letters describe a narrower range of out- 
ward life. She seems to have been intimate with several 
men of genius and high cultivation, especially in philosophy, 
as well as w 7 ith Bettine ; these intimacies afforded stimulus to 
her life, w 7 hich she passed, at the period of writing, either in 
her little room with her books and her pen, or in occasional 
visits to her family and to beautiful country-places. 

" Bettine, belonging to a large and wealthy family of exten- 
sive commercial connections, and seeing at the house of her 



PREFACE. 



ix 



grandmother Me. La Roche, most of the distinguished literati 
of the time, as well as those noble and princely persons who 
were proud to do honor to letters, if they did not professedly 
cultivate them, brings before us a much wider circle. The 
letters would be of great interest, if only for the distinct pic- 
tures they present of the two modes of life; and the two 
beautiful figures which animate and portray these modes of 
life are in perfect harmony with them. 

" I have been accustomed to distinguish the two as Nature 
and Ideal. Bettine, hovering from object to object, drawing 
new tides of vital energy from all, living freshly alike in 
man and tree, loving the breath of the damp earth as well 
as that of the flower which springs from it, bounding over 
the fences of society as easily as over the fences of the field, 
intoxicated with the apprehension of each new mystery, never 
hushed into silence by the highest, flying and singing like the 
bird, sobbing with the hopelessness of an infant, prophetic, 
yet astonished at the fulfilment of each prophecy, restless, 
fearless, clinging to love, yet unwearied in experiment, — is 
not this the pervasive vital force, cause of the effect which 
we call nature ? 

•• And Gtinderode, in the soft dignity of each look and ges- 
ture, whose lightest word has the silvery spiritual clearness 
of an angel's lyre, harmonizing all objects into their true re- 
lations, drawing from every form of life its eternal meaning, 
checking, reproving, and clarifying all that was unworthy by 
her sadness at the possibility of its existence ! Does she not 
meet the wild, fearless bursts of the friendly genius, to meas- 
ure, to purify, to interpret, and thereby to elevate ? As each 
word of Bettine's calls to enjoy and behold, like a breath of 
mountain-air, so each of Gunderode's comes like the moon- 
beam to transfigure the land-cape, to hush the wild beatings 
of the heart, and dissolve all the sultry vapors of day into the 
pure dew-drops of the solemn and sacred night. 

" The action of these two beings upon one another, as repre- 



X 



PREFACE. 



senting classes of thoughts, is thus of the highest poetical sig- 
nificance. As persons, their relation is not less beautiful. 
An intimacy between two young men is heroic. They call 
one another to combat with the wrongs of life ; they buckler 
one another against the million ; they encourage each other 
to ascend the steeps of knowledge ; they hope to aid one an- 
other in the administration of justice, and the diffusion of 
prosperity. As the life of man is to be active, they have 
still more the air of brothers in arms than of fellow-students. 
But the relation between two young girls is essentially poetic. 
What is more fair than to see little girls, hand in hand, walk- 
ing in some garden, laughing, singing, chatting in low tones 
of mystery, cheek to cheek and brow to brow ! Hermia and 
Helena, the nymphs gathering flowers in the vale of Enna, 
sister Graces and sister Muses rise to thought, and we feel 
how naturally the forms of women are associated in the con- 
templation of beauty and the harmonies of affection. The 
correspondence between very commonplace girls is interest- 
ing, if they are not foolish sentimentalists, but healthy na- 
tures with a common groundwork of real life. There is a 
fluent tenderness, a native elegance in the arrangement of 
trifling incidents, a sincere childlike sympathy in aspirations 
that mark the destiny of woman. She should be the poem, 
man the poet. 

u The relation before us presents all that is lovely between 
woman and woman, adorned by great genius and beauty on 
both sides. The advantage in years, the higher culture, and 
greater harmony of Giinderode's nature is counterbalanced 
by the ready springing impulse, richness, and melody of the 
other. 

u And not only are these letters interesting as presenting 
this view of the interior of German life, and of an ideal rela- 
tion realized, but the high state of culture in Germany which 
presented to the thoughts of those women themes of poesy 
and philosophy as readily as to the English or American 



PREFACE. 



xi 



girl come the choice of a dress, the last concert or assembly, 
has made them expressions of the noblest aspiration, filled 
them with thoughts, and oftentimes deep thoughts, on the 
greatest subjects. Many of the poetical fragments from the 
pen of Giinderode are such as would not have been written, 
had she not been the contemporary of Schelling and Fichte : 
yet are they native and original, the atmosphere of thought 
reproduced in the brilliant and delicate hues of a peculiar 
plant. This transfusion of such energies as are manifested 
in Goethe, Kant, and Schelling, into these private lives, is a 
creation not less worthy our admiration than the forms which 
the Muse has oiven them to bestow on the world through 
their immediate working by their chosen means. These are 
not less the children of the genius than his statue or the ex- 
position of his method. Truly, as regards the artist, the im- 
mortal offspring of the Muse, 

1 Loves where (art) has set its seal,' 

are objects of clearer confidence than the lives on which he 
has breathed ; they are as safe as the poet tells us death 
alone can make the beauty of the actual \ they will ever 
bloom as sweet and fair as now, ever thus radiate pure light, 
nor degrade the prophecy of high moments, by compromise, 
tits of inanity, or folly, as the living poems do. But to the 
universe, which will give time and room to correct the bad 
lines in those living poems, it is given to wait as the artist 
with his human feelings cannot, though secure that a true 
thought never dies, but once gone forth must work and live 
forever. 

" AVe know that cant and imitation must always follow a 
bold expre>-ion of thought in any wise, and reconcile our- 
selves, as well as we can, to those insects called by the very 
breath of the rose to prey upon its sweetness. But pleasure 
is unmingled where thought has done its proper work, and 
fertilized while it modified each being in its own kind. Let 



xii 



PREFACE. 



him who has seated himself beneath the great German oak, 
and gazed upon the growth of poesy, of philosophy, of criti- 
cism, of historic painting, of the drama, till the life of the last 
fifty years seems well worth man's living, pick up also these 
little acorns which are dropping gracefully on the earth, and 
carry them away to be planted in his own home, for in each 
fairy form may be read the story of the national tree, the 
promise of future growths as noble. 

" The talisman of this friendship may be found in Giinde- 
rode's postscript to one of her letters, ' If thou findest Muse, 
write soon again.' I have hesitated whether this might not 
be, 4 If thou findest Musse (leisure), write soon again ;' then 
had the letters wound up like one of our epistles here in 
America. But, in fine, I think there can be no mistake. 
They waited for the Muse. Here the pure products of pub- 
lic and private literature are on a par. That inspiration 
which the poet finds in the image of the ideal man, the man 
of the ages, of whom nations are but features, and Messiahs 
the voice, the friend finds in the thought of his friend, a na- 
ture in whose positive existence and illimitable tendencies 
he finds the mirror of his desire, and the spring of his con- 
scious growth. For those who write in the spirit of sincerity, 
write neither to the public nor the individual, but to the soul 
made manifest in the flesh, and publication or correspondence 
only furnishes them with the occasion for bringing their 
thoughts to a focus. 

" The day was made rich to Bettine and her friend by 
hoarding its treasures for one another. If we have no object 
of the sort, we cannot live at all in the day, but thoughts 
stretch out into eternity and find no home. We feel of these 
two that they were enough to one another to be led to indi- 
cate their best thoughts, their fairest visions, and therefore 
theirs was a true friendship. They needed not ' descend to 
meet.' " 



GUND ERODE. 



TO GUXD ERODE. 

The prattling spirit in my breast kept prattling on and on 
to thee through the tangled wood to Trages, where all were 
already asleep. They woke and said it was already past 
one ; in the country they blow out time at night, like a torch 
which one would save. When I told them that thou earnest 
with us as far as Henault, they all would fain have had thee 
here, each one for himself alone ; then had I been deprived of 
thee as much as now. Through thee glows the spirit, like 
the sun through young leaves ; it is with me as with the bud 
brooding in the sun ; when I think of thee, it warms me, and 
I expand my leaves in joy and pride, and often grow rest- 
less, so that I cannot remain in my place, but must forth into 
the field, into the wood — in the open air can I think of all 
which was impossible to me in the chamber — then fly my 
thoughts over the hills, and I look after them. They are all 
gone to-day to Meerholz, to see our cousin with the too large 
nose. I am alone at home ; I said I wanted to write, but 
the nose was the true reason. 

I have just come out of the Linden walk, and lived through 
the storm with the trees ; they give a good example, how we 
should be steadfast in bad weather ; lightning and thunder 
kept following one another so quick till they were quite out 
of breath ; now all the woods are at rest. I was wet, but 
the rain so warm, it had not mattered if it had rained yet 
harder ; soon was it fine weather, with a rainbow resting on 
the cornfield. I chased it half an hour, and came no nearer, 
then I thought how oft all seems near which one wants, and 
yet with utmost zeal we can never get a step nearer it. If 
1 



2 



GUNDERODE. 



the beauty from heaven beams not down upon us of its own 
will, it is in vain to run to meet it. I have been running the 
whole afternoon ; but here they come in the carriage. 

SUNDAY. 

Yesterday, at twilight, I was walking alone in the fields. 
Then came into my mind all our talk, as we were riding from 
Frankfort, about which of us two should die first. I have 
been here eight days, yet that talk is still sounding in my 
ears. " There is other space beside this little day-and-world 
history in which the soul may satisfy its thirst to be something 
in itself/' saidst thou. Then felt I, and feel it again and 
always, if thou wert not, what would the whole world be to 
me ? No opinion, no human being has influence over me but 
thou. I am dead already, if thou dost not bid me rise up 
and live on and on with thee ; I feel with certainty my life 
wakes up only when thou callest, and will perish if it cannot 
continue to grow in thee. Thou hast said that thy desire is 
to be free ; but I do not desire to be free, but to take root in 
thee, — a wood-rose refreshing itself in its own fragrance, it 
opens its bosom to the sun, but then, if the earth crumbles 
away from its roots, all is over. Yes, my life is insecure; 
without thy love, in which it is planted, it will never come to 
blossom, and a feeling has come upon me, as if thou mightst 
forget me ; but this perhaps is only because this weather is so 
pale and cold, and when I think on the fiery radiance with 
which thou hast so oft shone through my soul — abide with 
me yet. 

BETTINE. 

TO BETTINE. 

I have had many thoughts of thee, dear Bettine. Some 
nights ago I dreamed thou wast dead ; I wept bitterly at it, 
and the dream left, for a whole day, a mournful echo in my 
soul. When I came home at evening, I found thy letter ; I 
felt both joy and surprise to find a certain correspondence 
between my dream and thy thoughts. 

Clemens arrived yesterday evening. I wish thou wert 
here ; then he would find it pleasanter and more home-like ; 
if thou comest not soon, I think he will go to thee. 

Shall there be in this letter no word that can give thee 
pleasure. Thou art turning it on all sides to see if there is 



GUNDERODE. 



S 



nothing about a certain Russian cabriolet ; but thou wilt find 
nothing, for in all this time I have seen him only two min- 
utes, then he was on horseback, and spoke no reasonable 
word. Be merry, Bettine, and do not allow them to drive 
with cabriolets into thy heart. Present my friendly greet- 
ings to Savigny ; I hold him clear, but cannot come to Trages. 

Have the kindness to ask Sanchen if I did not leave my 
Chignon comb and chain at your house. If you come not 
soon, write of your life to her who loves you. 

CAROLINE. 

On my return from Henault, I turned our talk into a 
poem, but it broke a little. I would the piece were nobler, 
or rather I would it were more melodious ; but it contains 
much at which we glanced while talking. You write with 
more music in your letters. I wish I could learn the art. 

MANES. 

Scholar. Wise Master, I was in the catacombs of the Swed- 
ish kings. I drew near the coffin of Gustavus Adolphus with 
singular and painful feelings ; his deeds passed through my 
mind. I saw at one moment his life and death ; his super- 
abundant activity, and the deep repose in which he, sleeping, 
encounters now the second century. I recall the barbarous 
age in which he lived ; my mind is like a deep pit from which 
the shadows of the past are flitting upwards. Tears for his 
death fell as warm as if it had chanced to-day. Lost, gone, 
said I to myself ; is this all the fruit of the great life ? Ah ! 
I could not abide by the pit. I sought distraction ; I sought 
pains of another kind, but the subterraneous gloomy spirit 
pursued me. I could not shake off the sadness that lay upon 
my thoughts like a mourning veil ; my own time seems worth- 
less and void ; passionately am I drawn into the past. Is it 
past ? O that I were so also, and had never seen this bad 
time in which the greatness of that former world is quite 
gone and lost ! . 

Teacher. Nothing is lost, young Scholar ; that can in no 
wise be ; only the eye cannot follow an infinite series of con- 
sequences. Beside, how canst thou say that is lost which 
works so powerfully on thyself? Thy own destiny and pres- 
ent life are less to thee than the memory of the great King. 
Is not this the life now in thee, or dost thou esteem life only 



i 



GUNDERODE. 



as somewhat fleshly and visible, considering as dead and lost 
what works and is in thought alone ? 

Scholar. If it is life, it is but the life of a shadow ; then is 
the memory of the past more than a pale, shadowy reality. 

Teacher. The present is but a fleeting moment ; it passes 
while thou art realizing it ; the consciousness of life is its 
memory ; in this sense alone canst thou regard the past, 
whether its date be long since or a moment ago. 

Scholar. Thou sayest truly. The great man then lives 
not in me after his own law, but after mine ; and how I re- 
ceive, how and whether I remember him ? 

Teacher* Truly, that life alone is continued in thee which 
thy mind is fitted to receive, in so far as it is congenial ; 
what is of other nature in thee remains uninvaded, or that 
which thou receivest cannot work ; the limitation is the same 
in all matters. That which thou art not mentally prepared 
to receive is lost upon thy mind, as colors on a blind man's 
eye. 

Scholar. I must then believe that nothing is lost, as all 
causes live in their consequences, but only work on what is 
fitted to receive them. The world may be satisfied with this 
certainty, that nothing is lost. With this continuous life I am not 
satisfied ; I long to be received into the bosom of the past — - 
long for immediate relations with its great spirits. 

Teacher. And dost thou fancy this possible ? 

Scholar. I should have fancied it impossible before I de- 
sired it so fervently yesterday ; I should have esteemed my 
wish a folly ; to-day so desirous am I to believe possible this 
connection with the world of spirits, that I am near believ- 
ing it. 

Teacher. I think the shade of the great Adolphus has 
opened thy inner eye to the light. Hear me, then ; as all 
the parts of harmony have a necessary connection, whether 
obvious to sense or not, so surely are we in connection with 
that part of the world of spirits, which harmonizes with us. 
Likeness, in the thoughts of different men, is, in the spiritual 
sense, already connection, even if they know not of one 
another's existence, nor does the death of a man, who is in 
this connection with me, disturb it ; death is a chemical pro- 
cess, a separation, but not annihilation of powers. It does not 
break the bond between me and a mind like mine ; but the 
progress of the one, and the indolence of the other, may 



GUXDERODE. 



5 



break it. as one who has advanced far in the paths of knowl- 
edge, can no more meet the still ignorant friend of earlier 
years. Thou canst easily apply this, both as to general 
and particulars. 

Scholar. Perfectly ; you say harmony of powers consti- 
tutes the connection, and death caunot break it ; for it only 
separates, not annihilates, these powers. 

Teacher. Only the withdrawal of that which was the 
condition of harmony, can annihilate it, and a connection 
with the souls of those departed, may continue to exist so 
long as they have not ceased to harmonize with us. 

Scholar. I understand that. 

Teacher. All that is important is to become aware of 
the fact. Pure spiritual facts cannot be obvious to our 
senses ; they are not discerned through the eye or ear, but 
through the organ appropriate to them — through the inner 
sense, on which they work direct. This inner sense, the 
deep and delicate organ of the soul, is scarcely developed 
at all by common men ; only in each lies the germ. The 
din of the world, the intercourse with men, shallow in its 
origin, and addressed to what is superficial, prevent the soul 
from being conscious of its organ ; and what has been re- 
vealed by it. through all times, has encountered multitudes 
of sceptics and scorners, and even to this day is its percep- 
tion and use an individual feature in the lives of extraor- 
dinary men. Without reference to unspiritual apparitions, 
I feel, clearly, that the inner sense may be so excited as that 
the inner apparition shall become palpable to the bodily eye, 
as. on the other hand, the outward apparition is palpable to 
the spiritual eye. Thus I need not to explain all marvels 
through imposture or illusion of the senses, yet I know, in 
the language of the world, this development of an inward 
sense is called imagination. 

He, whose spiritual eye has been opened to the light, sees 
things in harmony with his being, invisible to others. From 
this inner sense have proceeded the religions, all the apoca- 
lypses, of ancient and modern times. Out of this power to 
discern connections, too subtle for the perception of those 
whose inner eye is still closed, arises the gift of prophecy ; 
that is, of binding together the past and future, and following 
out causes to their inevitable results. Prophecy is a percep- 
tion of the future. The prophet's art cannot be learned ; the 



6 



GI7NDER0DE. 



sense for it is a mystery, and mystically developed ; it reveals 
itself as the swift lightning, which instantly seeks again its 
grave, in the dark night. We cannot call up spirits, by 
spells, at our own will ; but they can reveal themselves to the 
spirit, the inner sense can discern them, and the susceptible 
mind receive. 

The teacher was silent, and his hearer left him. Many 
thoughts were busy within, and his whole soul was earnestly 
bent to make what he heard his own. 

TO GfjNDERODE. 

Thou knowest Bostel is here ; he is always running after 
me and saying, " Bettine, why are you so unamiable ? " I 
then ask him, what shall I do to become more amiable ? 
" Do like your sister, Loulou ; talk quietly with people, and 
show some sympathy if they talk to you. At present, if we 
w r ish to show you that regard that is due to a girl already of 
an important age, it is not possible ; you are like a young 
cat running after a mouse ; while we are doing you the hon- 
or to talk to you, you are climbing on chairs and sideboards ; 
you are up before the old family portraits, and seem to pay 
much more regard to them than to us who are living." In- 
deed, Herr von Bostel, that is only because they are so entirely 
overlooked and forgotten ; nobody speaks to them, and I feel 
about them as you do about me. Out of sympathy you talk 
to me, poor little fledgling that I am, and that infects one so, 
that I want to show sympathy for these painted big wigs. 
" Are you crazy ? Why should you show sympathy to an old 
picture ? " As you show it to me. 6i But the pictures have 
no feeling of it." Ei, and I have no feeling of it. " Well, 
I swear I pity you, you are on the way to the madhouse." 

I should not tell you such a silly story, if it had not caused 
such an uproar, for Clemens would not permit this from the 
good Bostel ; they talked very big, from Schelmufskey to the 
Grand Mogul, and in the little house, where they were, was 
such a noise that, from afar, it sounded like a brawl. I 
went there and waited till Bostel came out ; he was much 
excited ; I took all upon myself, and begged his pardon for 
having been so unmannerly, and said, I know not what all, 
till he promised, at last, to make peace with Clemens and 
forgive me, since I confessed my naughtiness. I confessed 
all, but thought, in my heart, what a piece of absurdity he 



GUNDERODE. 



7 



was ; Clemens came out, and then was fault found with me 
from both sides. I contradicted neither, but soothed both, 
till they had given one another the hand, and me a good 
lesson. 

Since men are kind, and my heart kindly disposed tow- 
ards them, how is it that I can talk with nobody? God 
has willed that I should be at home with thee alone. The 
Manes I read again and again ; the piece constantly excites 
thoughts. Thou thinkest that thou hast not spoken thy 
meaning well. I believe great thoughts, when they come to 
us for the first time, are so surprising, then seem words too 
poor for their expression; they seek about for it, and we 
feel timidity at using that which is not usual ; yet, where- 
fore ? I would always speak against rule, if thus I came 
nearer what is in the soul. Music should govern in the soul. 
Tune, without melody, shows that thought is. not fluent; the 
soul must produce means through which the stream of 
thought can flow. Thy letter is wholly melodious to me, 
more so than thy speech. " If thou art not to return soon, 
write again to her who loves thee," These words have a 
melodious flow, and then, " I have such dreary thoughts of 
thee, dear Bettine. Some nights ago, I dreamed thou wast 
dead. I wept bitterly at it, and the dream left, for a whole 
day, a mournful echo in my soul." It would be I, dearest 
Gunderode, who would weep if forced to leave thee here and 
go into another world ; I cannot think it would be possible 
for me to come to myself without thee. The musical sound 
of those words is like the pulse-beats of feeling ; it is living 
love ; that feelest thou for me, I am happy indeed. I be- 
lieve nothing true can arise in the spirit, without music, and 
that only the spirit which is well attuned, can feel itself free. 
I cannot say it clearly ; what I mean is, that we can receive 
the spirit of no book, or even read it, unless it brings its in- 
born melody ; it becomes conceivable and sensible only 
through this melody. And, while I think of it, must not all 
be untrue that is wanting in melody ? Thy Schellings and 
Fichtes and Kants, are to me quite inconceivable beings. 
What pains have I been at with them, and only now run away 
because I would make a pause. Attraction, Repulsion, 
Highest Potency ! 

Knowest thou how it is with me ? I get my head in a 
whirl, and then am ashamed, yes, truly ashamed, thus to 



8 



GUNDERODE. 



use pickaxes to get something from all this speech, and that 
a man born healthy must think his head into regular bumps 
and graft on the soul so many physical ills. Is not the phi- 
losopher fearfully presumptuous ? Or, if he gets a thought, 
does it make him wise ? Oh, no ! The thought falls like 
a shaving beneath the carpenter's bench, and is useless to so 
wise a master. Wisdom must be natural ; how can it need 
such a repulsive apparatus to be set a-going ; it is living ; 
how, then, condescend to use such means ? Man must, above 
all, love nature with true love ; then blooms he ! then nature 
plants intellect in him. But none of these philosophers 
seem to me like such an one, who leans on her bosom and 
trusts her, and, with all his powers, is dedicated to her. 
Rather, he seems on the watch, like a robber, what he can 
pilfer from her ; what he gets he puts into his private work- 
shop, and then, what toil he has lest it should stop ; here a 
wheel, there a weight, goes wrong ; one machine catches in 
the other ; he explains to the scholars his perpetual motion, 
all in a sweat, while the scholars stand confounded, and have 
not a word to say. 

Now, pardon me all this fable ; thou knowest I have never 
carried my aversion farther than as I have been heated 
and made giddy ; and when thy great thoughts coone before 
me, which are also philosophic, I say there is no intellect 
but in philosophy ; or, turn it about, and say philosophy is 
the eternal, living spirit, which will not let itself be seized, 
nor looked at, nor overlooked, but only felt, working in each 
one new and ideal, in short, which is like the ether above 
us. Thou canst not seize it with the eye, canst only by it 
be shone upon, embraced ; thou canst live upon it, but not 
produce it for thyself. Is not the creative nature more 
powerful than the philosopher with his triangle, when he 
pushes the creative faculties hither and thither — to what 
purpose ? Does he think this exhibition of thought the cer- 
tain way to draw near to the soul of nature ? I believe she 
will hardly tolerate one who has pinched himself into a 
philosopher. 

" Wie ist Natur so hold und gut, die mich am Busen halt." 

" How gentle and good is Nature thus to hold me to her bosom," 

sounds like a joke upon philosophers. But thou art a poet, 
and all that thou sayest is holy truth. " We cannot call up 



GUXDEEODE. 



9 



spirits by the spells of magic, but they can reveal themselves 
to the soul ; the prepared soul can receive them ; by the 
inner sense may they be discerned.'' Now, truly, if the 
whole world of to-day did not understand what thou hast said 
in those words, and I believe it would in vain 'be spoken 
to the world, yet am I the scholar, who will strive, with all 
his force, to make what he has heard his own, and from this 
doctrine shall my happiness bloom up, not because I have 
learnt, but because I feel it ; it has become in me a germ, 
and takes deep root ; it expresses my nature, or, rather, it 
is the holy word, •* Let there be," which thou hast uttered 
over me. At night I read it in bed. and feel no more alone 
and a nothing in the world ; I think as the spirit must reveal 
itself to spirits, so must it come to mine. To that which 
the world calls " extravagant imagination " will I sacrifice 
in silence, and keep my mind clear from all which may in- 
jure my power of receiving it ; for I feel within me a con- 
science which secretly warns me when I should avoid this 
and that. As I talk with thee to-day, I feel there is an un- 
conscious consciousness, that is. feeling, and that the soul is 
unconsciously made living, so must it be among the spirits 
— but no more of that. Through thee nature breathes on 
me and awakes my soul, as the bud is called out into leaves. 
Ah ! just now, a great bird flew up against the window and 
frightened me so ; it is already past midnight. Good-night. 

TO BETTINE. 

It seems to me sometimes quite too absurd, dear Bet- 
tine, that thou shouldst, with such solemnity, declare thyself 
my scholar, when I might as well hold myself thine ; yet it 
gives me much pleasure, and there is, also, a truth in it, if 
the teacher feels himself stimulated by the scholar ; thus 
may I, with some reason, call myself thine. Many new in- 
sights are brought me by thy opinions and by thy divina- 
tions, in which I confide ; and since thou art so loving as to 
name thyself my scholar, I may sometime marvel to see over 
what a bird I have been brooding. 

Thy story of Bostel is quite pleasant ; nothing dost thou 
love better than to take the sins of the world upon thyself — 
to thee they are no burden, they give thee wings rather for 
gayety and whim ; we may think God himself takes pleasure 
with thee. But thou wilt never be able to make men esteem 



10 



GUNDERODE. 



thee something better than themselves. Yet however genius 
makes to itself air and light, it is always ethereal-wise, even 
when it bears on its pinions all the load of Philisterei. In 
such matters thou art a born genius, and in these can I only 
be thy scholar, toiling after thee with diligence. It is an 
amusing play in the circle that while others complain of thy 
so called inconsequences, I secretly lament that my genius 
does not lead to such " Careless away over the plains, where 
thou seest no path dug before thee by the boldest pioneers." 
Yet, always do one thing at a time, do not begin so many 
all confusedly. In thy chamber it looked like the shore 
where a fleet lies wrecked. Schlosser wanted two great 
folios that he lent you three months ago, from the city library, 
and which you have never read. Homer lay open on the 
ground, and thy canary-bird had not spared it. Thy fairly 
designed map of the voyages of Odysseus lay near, as well 
as the shell box with all the Sepia saucers and shells of col- 
ors ; they have made a brown spot on thy pretty straw car- 
pet, but I have tried to put all once more into order. Thy 
flageolet, which thou couldst not find to take with thee, guess 
where I found it ; in the orange-tree box, on the balcony ; 
it was buried in the earth up to the mouth-piece ; probably 
thou hadst desired, on thy return, to find a tree of flageolets 
sprouting up. Liesbet has bountifully watered the tree, and 
the instrument has been all drenched. I have laid it in a 
cool place, that it may dry gradually and not burst ; but 
what to do with the music, that lay near by, I cannot tell ; 
I put it in the sun, but before human eyes canst thou never 
show it again. The blue ribbon of thy guitar has been 
fluttering out of the window, to the great delight of the 
school-children opposite, ever since thy departure. I chid 
Liesbet a little for not having shut the window ; she ex- 
cused herself, because it was hid by the green silk curtain, 
yet, whenever the door is open, there is a draught. The 
sedge by the glass is still green. I have given it fresh 
water. In thy box, where are sowed oats and I know not 
what else, all has grown up together ; I think there are 
many weeds, but, as I cannot be sure, I have not ventured 
to pull anything up. Of books, I have found on the floor 
Ossian, — Sacontala, — the Frankfort Chronicle, the second 
volume of Hemsterhuis, which I took home with me be- 
cause I have the first already : in Hemsterhuis lay the 



GUNDERODE. 



11 



accompanying philosophical essay, which I pray thee pre- 
sent to me, unless thou hast some special value for it ; I 
have more of the same sort from thee, and, as thy dislike 
to philosophy makes thee esteem them so lightly, I should 
like to keep together these studies against thy will ; perhaps 
in time they will become interesting to thee. Siegwart, a 
romance of the olden clay, I found on the harpsichord with 
the inkstand lying on it ; luckily, there was little ink, yet 
wilt thou find thy moonlight composition, over which it has 
flowed, not easy to decipher. I heard something rattle in a 
little box, in the window-sill, and had the curiosity to open 
it, then flew out two butterflies, which thou hadst put in as 
chrysalises. Liesbet and I chased them into the balcony, 
where they satisfied their first hunger in the bean blossoms. 
From under the bed, Liesbet swept out Charles the Twelfth, 
the Bible, and also a glove which belongs not to the hand 
of a lady, in which was a French poem ; this glove seems 
to have lain under thy pillow ; I did not know thou hadst 
ever busied thyself with writing French poems in the old 
style. The perfume of the glove is very pleasant, and re- 
minds me of something which gives me a notion where its 
fellow may be ; yet be easy about thy treasure, I have fast- 
ened it up behind Kranach's Lucretia, and there, at thy 
return, it may be found. I saw two letters among many 
written papers ; the seals were unbroken ; one was from 
young Lichtenberg, of Darmstadt, the other from Vienna. 
What acquaintances hast thou there, and how is it possible 
that one who so seldom receives letters, should not be more 
curious, or, rather, so careless about them ? I left them on 
thy table. All is now in tolerable order, so that thou mayst, 
diligently and comfortably, continue thy studies. 

I have with true pleasure described to thee thy chamber, 
for it, like an optic mirror, expresses thy apart manner of 
being, and gives the range of thy whole character ; thou hast 
brought together various and strange materials to kindle the 
sacrificial flame ; it is burning ; whether the Gods are edified 
thereby is to me unknown. 

If thou findest time, write soon again. 

CAROLINE. 



12 



GtlNDERODE. 



Paper sent with the preceding letter. 
APOCALYPTICAL FRAGMENT. 

1. I stood on a high rock in the Mediterranean Sea ; be- 
fore me, the East; behind me, the West; and the wind lay 
still upon the sea. 

2. The sun sank ; scarcely was it hid from sight, than the 
dawn of morning began to rise. Morning, noon, evening, 
and night chased one another in giddy haste across the dome 
of heaven. 

3. Astonished, I saw them circle round ; my blood, my 
thoughts, moved not more swiftly. Time, while it without 
me conformed to new laws, went on within me at its wonted 
pace. 

4. I would have rushed into the morning-red, or have 
bathed myself in the shadows of night, hastily, with her, 
flowing on, away from this slow life ; but sunk in contempla- 
tion, I grew weary and fell asleep. 

5. Then saw I before me a sea, girt in by no shore, neither 
to the East, the South, the West, nor to the North. No breeze 
swelled the waves, but from its depths was moved, as if ex- 
cited by inward fermentation, the immeasurable sea. 

6. And many forms rose from the depths of the sea, and 
mists arose and were lost in the clouds, and again, in sudden 
lightnings, saluted the parent waves. 

7. And always more manifold arose these forms from the 
deep. I was seized with giddiness and dread ; my thoughts 
were driven hither and thither, like a torch by the storm- 
wind, till my memory was extinguished. 

8. As 1 again awoke, and began to know of myself, then 
I could not tell whether I had slept ages or minutes ; for, in 
the dull, confused dream, there had been nothing to remind 
me of time. 

9. It was dark within me, as if I had rested in the bosom 
of the sea, and risen from it like the other forms ; to myself 
I seemed a drop of dew ; I moved merrily to and fro in the 
air, and rejoiced, and my life was that the sun mirrored him- 
self in me, and the stars looked upon me. 

10. I let myself be borne upon the breezes, I joined my- 
self with the evening-red, to the ocean-colored drops ; I 
ranged myself with my playfellows round the moon, when 
she would hide herself, and accompanied her path. 



GUXDEEODE. 



13 



11. The past was entirely past ; I belonged to the present 
solely ; a longing was in me. which knew not its aim. I 
sought ever, and what I found was not what I sought ; and 
with still more ardent longing was I drawn forth into the In- 
finite. 

12. Once was I aware that all the forms, which had as- 
cended from the sea. returned to it and were again produced 
in changing forms. This apparition surprised me, for I had 
known of no end. But now, I thought, my desire is also to 
return to the source of life. 

13. And, as 1 thought of this, and felt more life than in 
all my past conscious being, was suddenly my mind em- 
braced as by overwhelming mists ; but the}' vanished soon. 
I seemed no more myself : my limits I could no longer find ; 
my consciousness I had transcended ; it was greater, different, 
and yet I felt myself in it. 

14. I was released from the narrow limits of my being, 
and no single drop more ; I was restored to the all, and the 
all belonged to me. I thought and felt, flowed as waves in 
the sea. shone in the sun, circled with the stars; I felt my- 
self in all, and enjoyed all in myself. 

15. Therefore, who has ears to hear, let him hear. It is 
not two. nor three, nor a thousand, but one and all ; it is not 
body and spirit separately, one belonging to time, the other 
to eternity, but one, belongs to itself, and is, at once, time and 
eternitv, visible and invisible, constant in change, an infinite 
life. 

TO GUXD ERODE. 

I will now tell thee how we live here. Early in the morn- 
ing, we all go to the Savigny's bedchamber. After a little 
fight with pillows and napkins, we go to breakfast in the next 
room. TTe are all anxious to hit the great Savigny, but he 
is very discreet, and draws back so soon as the fight waxes 
hot. Later, they scatter in different directions. We have 
been out on horseback twice, and I have fallen off both times ; 
once as we climbed a hill, and once for laughing. Afternoons 
we often go into the wood, and Savigny reads aloud. Then 
have I great trouble to listen : on the wood-turf I find too 
many things to distract me — every moment a weed, or a 
spider, or a caterpillar, or a sandstone ; or I bore a hole in 
the earth, and find all sorts of things there. Savigny says I 



14 



GUNDERODE. 



am too conceited to listen. He is vexed at it ; so I get be- 
hind him, that he may not see what I am doing. We go 
hunting, and I take the little fusil, but only in chase of what 
thou knowest I am always pursuing, the chimeras of the 
brain. Yesterday, Bostel wanted to teach me to aim at the 
birds ; I shot, and the little bird fell down. I never dreamed 
that I might hit it, and was terrified ; but Bostel made such 
a noise about my sharp sight, and all the others were prais- 
ing me for my good aim, that I did not let them see my peni- 
tence for this first murder. I kept the bird in my hand till 
it was entirely cold ; in the stillness of night I buried it under 
the window of my bedroom, not without heavy thoughts ; 
truly it was no deed of my will, but yet it was my heedless- 
ness. As for the bird, all the sportsmen shoot them to be 
sure. But not I ; I would never have done it. Amid the 
leaves, in his gay lifetime, to shoot down the bird, whom God 
has gifted with the freedom of flight. God gives him wings, 
and I shoot him down. O, no ! that chimes not in tune. 

I have just now got thy letter ; hast thou thy comb and 
the chain ? I sent them to Mienchen in a little box. Cle- 
mens added a letter to my sister, and a few lines to thee. My 
chamber pleases me well in its disorder, and I please myself 
well, that thou thinkest to paint my character in it. The 
sweetest is that thou shouldst have come at the right moment 
to free the butterflies — thou comest ever at the right time 
to make good my follies. What thou art pleased to style the 
philosophic fragment I give thee, but name it a stiff, ill- 
whittled beechen twig ; it is without speech, without music, 
unless it be a wooden laughter; to that it is like, indeed, in 
tone and import. Make me not foolish ; I wish to know 
nothing more about it ; thy apocalyptical fragment makes me 
also giddy. Am I too unripe, or how is it that I am so fe- 
verish, and that thy fantasies give me pain and uneasiness ? 
" My thoughts were driven to and fro like a torch in the 
storm-wind, till memory was extinguished." Why dost thou 
write this ? It is to me a bitter thought ; it makes me uneasy 
and full of fear lest thy spirit be lost in total unconsciousness. 
I know not how, I always feel as if all were life within me, 
and nothing without me. But thou seekest in higher regions 
answers to thy longings ; — wilt " with thy playmates circle 
round the moon," where I can find no possibility of my join- 
ing the dance ; — wilt " be loosed from the narrow limits of 



GUNDERODE. 



15 



thy being," while my whole happiness is that Gocl has shaped 
thee in thine own peculiar individuality. Then, again, sayest 
thou these sorrowful words — "I seemed to myself no more 
myself, and yet more than ever myself." Thinkest thou this 
can please me ? "I could no more find my limits ;" my con- 
sciousness was transcended, — all was changed." In all this 
is my sentence spoken ; I am tortured by jealousy ; my 
thoughts seem to transgress the circle in which I can meet 
thee. Thou art condescending to speak to me of such things, 
in which I cannot feel with thee, and also may not, because 
they pass out of the limited life-circle, in which alone I de- 
light to think. Punish me as thou wilt for my stupidity, yet 
jealousy rages within whenever thou wilt not remain with 
me on the ground. In this fragment I perceive that thou 
dost only remain with me a short time, en passant ; but I 
would be with thee ever, now and ever, and unmingled with 
others ; thou didst weep for me in thy dream, but, waking, 
forgettest entirely to be with me. I can think of life only 
as it lies close before me, with thee on the garden-steps or 
beside the stove. I can write no fragments, only letters to 
thee, and inly long paths, grand views, but no running after 
the moon, or dissipating into the dew, or melting into the 
rainbow. Time and eternity, that all ranges so widely I 
fear to lose thee quite out of sight, what is to me " an infi- 
nite life constant in change ; " each moment that I live is 
wholly thine, and I cannot help all my thoughts from being 
bent on thee. But thou dost shake me from the cradle, in 
which thou hast pushed me out into the great ocean, out 
into the waves, because thou wilt rise to the sun, and flow 
out into the sea, beneath the stars. This makes my head 
turn. I am. like one consumed in the fire, and unable to bear 
the water that should extinguish it. Thou dost not under- 
stand me, and wise though thou may est be to understand all, 
the child born in thy breast, that understandest thou not. I 
know well how it will be with me all my life long : I know 
it well. Farewell. • bettine. 

To-day is it the 10th May; on the 7th May it thundered 
for the first time this year ; that was just the time when 
thou hadst the accursed apocalyptical fever. 

We are to stay here yet fourteen days longer ; all is in 
blossom ; the slope of the hill full of cherry-trees ; dark-red 



* 16 



GUNDERODE. 



stems, as young as one of us. I go out early every morning 
to look for the caterpillars' nests, and bend down the boughs 
and pull out as many of the ugly caterpillars as I can reach. 
I would have the trees rejoice this year, and not have their 
heads made bald before the harvest. I do it also to be even 
with thee ; since thou wilt have thy rainbow garlands and 
moon coteries, and thy rambles beyond the limits of con- 
sciousness, and dost forget to come home, so have I my soli- 
tary intercourse with the young pea-vines and mirabels, and 
Reine Claudes and blossoming cherry-trees. Yesterday I 
went out to Golden Pond with Gingerich ; we made a hut of 
moss there; the two young anabaptists helped us, — he who 
is so proud of his brown-red beard, the handsome Hans, and 
the blond George ; they both left their ploughs standing and 
came to help me ; they cut down branches of the fir ; I bound 
these branches together with all I had worn about me, with 
my blue scarf and the pink kerchief, of which thou hast the 
other half ; and in the afternoon came Savigny, and lay down 
well pleased in the hut, and read aloud poems by Brother 
Anton, and journeys to the different mineral springs, and a 

poem to Euphrosyne Maxsimilian. 

***** * 

I wish I could return earlier, and my conscience upbraids 
me for losing sight so long of all I had begun there ; but day 
after day slips by so pleasantly, and Savigny is so sweet and 
childlike, that we cannot bear to leave him ; every moment 
one has some secret to confide to him ; one leads him into the 
wood, another into the arbor, and Gundel must make up her 
mind to it; reserve is not the mode here. Clemens has 
painted a whole wall full of strange figures, and verses and 
poems are chalked on every partition. Clemens has painted, 
in black and white, Wieland, Herder, Goethe, and the 
princess Amelia, and added the verses thou wottest of, — 
now must I stop. I send thee a box with a great bunch of 
may-flowers. Adorn with these thy domestic altar, and offer 
up there thy devotions for me ; these are the flowers I love 
best. Look into thyself and ask thy heart who stands near- 
est to thee of all mortals ; who nestles most closely to thy 
heart without any grand requisitions on a hyperborean bliss ? 
and thou must say that it is I who alone have the right to 
stand near thee, and if thou canst not see it, so much the 
worse for me, but for thee also. 

BETTINE. 



GUN D ERODE. 



17 



Paper accompanying this letter. 
THE ESSAY THAT LAY IX HEMSTERHUIS. 

There are three things from which man has his- origin, not 
only a part or a manifestation of him. but he himself with 
all his manifestations. In these three things lie the seeds of 
him ; they are the elements from which created nature forms 
herself anew into man. 

The first is Faith. From this comes the positive part of 
man. namely, the form, or robe of the spirit. Thought ; this 
is the birth, the visible appearance of spirit, and a confirma- 
tion of its existence. Faith is confirmation : without this all 
wavers and takes no shape, flying off at a thousand outlets 
to regions not yet subject to the plastic powers of nature. 
For as it is the tendency of nature to work out the everlast- 
ing material. Time, so is it the tendency of the material to 
repel form, and never to receive it till conquered by nature 
in blessed combat. 

Faith is the manifestation of God in Time ; Faith is eter- 
nal assurance. The manifestation of God is eternal in each 
moment ; and so is man eternal, for he is the manifestation of 
God. God is all good as opposed to nothingness, that is to 
say. evil. 

Thence is all in man which is, the manifestation of God ; 
he comprehends only through God and faith in him, because 
his existence is Faith — his essence God. 

What man sees with his eyes without himself, is the sight 
of God in him ; what he hears with his ears without himself, 
is the voice of God in him ; but what he feels with his whole 
body and mind without himself, is the touch of God, the 
spark of inspiration in him ; but what is in him that shapes 
and forms, is spoken to and led to recreate what it rinds 
formed without. In him also lies Time, and the work of 
Creation is no other than to change Time into Eternity : he 
who neither transforms Time into Eternity, nor draws Eter- 
nity down into Time, he works the bad, for all which has an 
end is bad. 

But to draw down Eternity into Time, that is as much as 
to say that Time can have power over Eternity, nothingness 
get the better of creative power, the material gain mastery 
over the master who works in it. 
2 



18 



GUNDERODE. 



Evil is suicide, for the will of annihilation is temporal, and 
the thought contains within itself the seeds of its destruction ; 
because it is the robe of the finite, not a visible apparition of 
the eternal spirit ; and here rebels the material, Time, against 
its master, the destiny of Eternity. 

If one says, man is born in good, this is true, because he is 
born in Faith ; but if one says he has nothing bad, but only 
attracts it, this is not true, for he has the power to repel from 
himself the bad, not to attract it to himself, for the bad is 
Time, and serves as nourishment for the Divine and Eter- 
nal ; but Time consumes the Divine, if not consumed by it. 
It is bad when the temporal, the earthly, devours the heav- 
enly ; but good when the eternal, heavenly, transmutes the 
earthly into itself, and turns all to God. 

Yet God has not the temporal in himself, for his existence 
is the transformation of the temporal into the heavenly; be- 
cause he is, so is eternity. 

Reason is a pillar, firmly planted in man. It is eternal 
and a prop of heaven, because it is rooted in us, and one 
with us rises its head into the clouds ; at its foot lies Time. 
As the spirit is unfolded from the material, so is Eternity 
unfolded from Time ; through reason the spirit grows into 
Eternity, and thus is man transformed from an earthly into a 
heavenly being. 

FRANKFORT. 

TO BETTINE. 

Melons, ananas, figs, grapes, and peaches, with the profu- 
sion of southern blossoms, which just now are being care- 
fully packed up at your house, have given me the desire to 
send you the violet and narcissus nosegay (change and con- 
stancy), and I wish I could have sent myself also. The heli- 
otrope, with the pinks and jasmine, is a separate nosegay 
from Gontard to thee ; he wished me to let thee know of it. 
Thy absence is now very gloomy to me. Destiny aids thy 
love of dissipation, so that with you it is an eternal wander- 
ing, coming and going. I pray thee write how long you 
stay, or expect to stay. Before, I did not wish that thou 
shouldst stay, and, now, wert thou but here ! It is no cheer- 
ful time with me ; much leisure, and no inspiration for it. 
One depends on many things to which we are not willing to 
ascribe any influence. The habit of expecting thee in the 



GfXDERODE. 



19 



afternoon hangs like a broken bell-rope in my head. Always 
must I listen, whether I may not hear thy step in the dis- 
tance. 

A summer in town ! It threatened me like a demon to 
neglect the clear heavens. My walks about the Eschenheim 
gate are killing. The Englishmen, also, will visit you this 
week : all are going away. 

Write to me much ; also of my writings ; then shall I 
send more. That I. as Narciss, break a lance against thee 
with more success than in talk, where thou always hast the 
better, thou must agree. I think thou mightst be satisfied, 
so to be felt through thy own fresh nature, that thou art sure 
of me. He who can be something in the whole will know 
how to make himself felt, and so will change return always 
to constancy, for there is home. Thou art not to-day what 
thou wast yesterday, and yet art thou an eternal sequence of 
thyself. Besides, it seems to me extremely perverse, through 
selfishly insisting on that which, like sunshine, is only a tran- 
sient gift of the gods, to encumber the freedom of the spirit. 
Truth, growing up in the soul which loves, cherishes it to a 
strong tree, till no iron is sharp enough to cut it down ; but 
before the trunk grows strong of itself, you can exact nothing 
from it. By making demands on its growing life, you blight 
it. and. when it is full-grown, it is no more a merit, but a 
necessity, like breathing : it has no longer rights to satisfy, 
for it has become wholly organic life. Let it be our care 
that each impulse receive its proper, organic life ; let this be 
our fundamental truth, through which we unite ourselves 
with the gods in all that is lofty. Till then, let us meet in 
their temple of custom, to find one another there, to take 
hands in the same view ; that will foster in us the tree of 
truth, till it issue from us both, and grow strong in indepen- 
dent life. 

I have often borne myself about with the thought, whether 
all which can express itself perfect and living in the soul 
must not obtain an independent life, which then, as sponta- 
neous fires, (like that truth, with which thou dost magnetize 
me.) penetrates the minds of men, and inspires them to a 
higher existence. Whatever happens in the mind is prepa- 
ration for a developing future ; and this future are we our- 
selves. Thou sayest all is inward ; thou dost not feel the 
outward world. But is not the outward the inward, or will 



20 



GUNDERODE. 



it not be ? From within man learns to see, hear, and feel, 
that he may translate the outward into the inward; that is 
not other than when the bees bear the pollen to the calix, it 
is meant to fertilize. Within the soul lies the future in mani- 
fold buds ; thither must a pure spirit-flower be carried by 
living seed. That seems to me futurity. Years pass like a 
deep slumber, in which we move neither backward nor for- 
ward ; and real time-progress is only that in which the spirit 
fertilizes the single soul ; in the space of time, real life 
comes forth, from such single fertilizing moments, as the 
flower-petals close upon one another. What, truly, is time, 
in which nothing takes place, which is not fertilized by the 
spirit. Pause, senseless nothingness ! void space which we 
traverse. But those moments should be sown so thickly, 
that the whole space be a flower-sea of fertilizing moments. 
All excitement to develop into independent life, that armed 
with spirit develops, in the true way, the flowers of the 
future. That alone is living time; but to esteem ourselves 
complete, and go to meet a future that is not ourselves, seems 
to me madness, and as untrue as to say that our insight is 
not a consequence of our conception. I have concentrated 
myself, in order to speak clearly ; one feels an idea to be 
incontrovertible, yet cannot express it. Thy jealousy, which 
I at first treated as a jest, and then blamed as unjust, has led 
me to these thoughts. I do not object, Bettine, that thou 
shouldst so earnestly, and with peculiar right, take part in 
me more than all the others, as we, involuntarily, for many 
living thoughts are indebted to mutual contact ; and I, more 
to thee than thou to me ; so should this organic taking hold 
of one another set us free from each petty selfish feeling ; 
and we should, like youths who are running a race, not give 
ourselves time to think on anything, but to persist in the 
buoyant course. And, in the end, what have I, indeed, from 
all the others ? Thou canst well answer that to thyself, and 
thus win for thy soul a perfect peace. 

Write, with thy answer, a letter for Clemens also ; he 
asked it, in his last to me, and will be much surprised when 
he hears that thou art at Schlangenbad. Adieu. Write 

SOOn. CAROLINE. 



GUXD ERODE. 



CHANGE AND CONSTANCY. 
Violetta. 

Yes, thou art faithless; let me hasten from thee; - 

Like threads, thou canst sever feelings. 

Whom lov'st thou then? to whom dost thou belong 

Narciss. 

Nature has taught me the way to love; 

I belong ever to what is beautiful ; 

I depart never from the path of Beauty. 

Violetta. 

So is thy love, like thy life, a wandering; 

From one beauty hasting to another, 

Thou art ever drunk of "the same bewildering cup, 

Till newer beauty beckons thee away. 

Narciss. 

In higher charms, then, sinks my contemplation, 
As the bee-lips in the floweret's cup. 

Woletla. 

And mournfully then will the floweret perish, 
When she sees herself by thee forsaken — 

Narciss. 

no! the Sun has saluted her. 

When the sun sank, then fell the evening dew. 

Can she no longer see the radiant one '? 

Yet night is sweetened by the beaming stars. 

Has she not often seen the sunset fade? 

And night fly tearful in its turn? 

And day and night are fairer yet than L 

Yet, if one day flies, another takes its place; 

If one night flies, another falls upon us; 

For nature in each beautiful thing consoles herself. 

Violetta. 

What, theu, is love, if it has no permanence ? 
Narciss. 

Love will wander only, not depart: 

It will have an eye for all excellence. 

Has it discerned this light in any image. 

It hastens on to another where it burns yet clearer, 

Ever pursuing the most excellent — 

Violetta. 

So will I receive thy love as a guest; 

Since it may fly as satiated desire, 

My heart shall never more grant it a home. 



GUNDERODE. 



Narciss. 

see the spring; is it not like love? 

It smiles so charming, tender, and the gloom 
And clouds of winter-days are seen no more. 
It is not a guest, but ruler over all things, 
Embraces all, and a new stirring 
And striving is awake in every being, 
And yet it tears itself from Telia's arms, 
And other zones glow in its presence ; 
To other lands it brings new, fairer day. 

Violetta. 

Hast thou never known holy truth ? 

Narciss. 

To me that is not truth which you call true, 

Nor that is faithless which seems so to you; 

He who the hour of highest life can share, 

And in the present bliss of love never forget 

To judge, to reckon up and measure, 

Him name I faithless; he must not be trusted. 

His coldly conscious nature will look through thee 9 

And be the judge of thy free self-oblivion. 

But I am true. Wholly filled by the object 

Which draws me by the bonds of love, 

Will all, will my nature be for the time. 

Violetta. 

Is there, then, no love which could restrain thee ? 
Narciss. 

It is not men nor things that I can love, 

Only their beauty, and am to myself so true, 

That truth to another would be falsehood for me; 

Would bring me discontent, strife, and regret. 

My desire must ever remain free. 

The ordering forces which necessity 

Has devised to prevent what is ill. 

Must not disturb my inward harmony; 

Therefore, leave me to what the moment brings forth. 

The hours revolve in eternal circles ; 

The stars wander, — they stand not still; 

The brook hastens from its source and never returns; 

The stream of life undulating always 

Carries me on its waves. 

See all life: it has no permanence; 

It is an endless wandering, coming, going, 

Living change ; various, pulse-like motion. 

0, stream, into thee is poured my entire life; 

1 cast myself on thee, forget both land and port. 



GUXDERODE. 



28 



TO GUNDERODE. 

The "day we arrived, it was so hot as to be more than 
insupportable ; we threw off our nankeen travelling-dresses, 
and lay down in our under-clothes, in the entry window, 
before our chamber-door, from where, hid behind the trees, 
we might look down on a terrace where the retinue of the 
Princess of Hesse, who lodges below us, were taking tea. 
It was very amusing ; we could understand a great deal, and 
a word from a distance, however insignificant in itself, is 
always amusing as a comedy. But the pleasure lasted not 
long ; there was a lobster-red chamberlain, whom at first I 
had been pleased to see running hither and thither, and 
whispering all sorts of things in the ladies' ears, and a duke 
of Gotha, with long legs, red hair, a very melancholy aspect, 
and a great white hound between his knees, wearing a liver- 
colored frock ; then many ladies, with their superfluous orna- 
ments, whose caps looked like Nelson's fleet under full sail, 
meeting the French ships of the line. When two talked 
together, it was like two ships engaged in battle — some- 
times broad-side, sometimes before the wind ; at last the 
ladies and gentlemen separated to walk, and suddenly stood 
behind us the red chamberlain. Tonie was frightened, and 
ran into the chamber ; but I was not, and asked him what 
he wanted. He was confused, and said he wished to make 
acquaintance with the ladies. I asked, why are you so red, 
then ? He grew yet more red, and tried to take my hand. 
I said No ! and went into the chamber ; he pressed after me ; 
I cried Tonie, help me to put this man out ; but she was so 
distressed, she could not stir, only think ; and I leaned with 
all my strength against the door, as the red man tried to get 
through, crying Tonie, ring the bell, for our servants were 
all busy with the baggage. But Tonie could not find the 
bell-rope. The unmannerly man persisted in coming, though 
he saw we did not wish it ; I could not understand what he 
meant, and thought for a moment he meant to kill us. I 
seized a parasol that stood beside the door, and aimed with 
it at his lungs or liver, I know not which ; he drew back, 
and the door shut to. There stood I, as one who has been 
hunted over hill and valley by a ghost ; for a quarter of an 
hour I could not get my breath. I thought really he was an 
assassin, and had a thousand plans in my head how I should 



24 



GUNDERODE. 



strangle him. Tome laughed, and said what nonsense — a 
chamberlain and a murderer ! She thought he is only an 
ill-intentioned, vulgar knave, like most of those who are at 
courts. But we made the footman sleep before our cham- 
ber-door, and took Lisette into the chamber with us. I 
could not sleep all night, I was so disturbed that the man 
was lying before the door ; it is the first time in my life that 
I was ever distressed by such feelings ; and only think, next 
day our servant announced the red gentleman, who desired 
admittance, that he might deliver a message from the Prin- 
cess. I called out, No ! we wish to hear of no Princess ; 
but Tonie says, " That will never do ; we must admit him." 
I armed myself with the parasol as he entered and invited 
us to take tea with the Princess on the terrace ; at the same 
time he made many excuses — how he had no idea who we 
were, as we lay in the window in such undress. I was si- 
lent, for I felt indignant at the red man. We went to the 
Princess, who took me by the hand and kissed me ; then 
seated us in the circle, and the red man came behind me, so 
that I felt his breath. This displeased me much ; I said, 
go away from behind me, odious man ! He ran away ; but 
Tonie looked very grave at me, and, when we were in our 
chamber again, she chid me for having spoken so loud ; but 
that is all one to me ; I could not endure him near me. 
What do I care if the Princess did observe it. If she 
should ask me about it, I should say he wanted to murder 
us in our chamber, and then he could defend himself if it 
was not so, and tell why he fell upon us in such a murderous 
way. Tonie does not like to have me to go walk alone in 
the evening ; she says the chamberlain might meet me ; so I 
must always have somebody trotting behind me. Nothing is 
fairer than a walk in the mist, with which, as evening comes 
on, all the clefts are filled, and a thousand shapes are seen 
flitting in the valley and on the rocks. But to have some- 
body behind me spoils it. I cannot make poems like thee, 
Giinderode, but I can talk with nature, when alone with her, 
but nobody must be behind me, for it is only in being alone 
with her that I am with her. On the castle of the hill, 
in the night-dew, it was fair also to be with thee. Those 
were the dearest hours of all my life ; and, when I return, 
we will again dwell together there eight days ; we will have 
our beds close together, and talk all night, and then the wind 



GUXDERODE. 



25 



Tvill rise and make the old roof clatter, and the mice will 
come and suck the oil from the lamp, while we two philoso- 
phers, though now and then interrupted by these pretty 
interludes, hold grand and profound speculations, enough to 
make the old world creak on its rusty hinges, if hot to turn 
quite round. Seest thou, thou art the exiled Plato, and I 
am thy dearest friend and scholar Dion. We love each 
other tenderly, and would give our lives for one another, 
were it required ; for nothing would please me better than 
to give my life for thee. It is an immeasurable happiness 
to be called to great, heroic deeds. To offer up life for my 
Plato, for the great teacher of the world, the heavenly, 
youthful spirit, with broad forehead and breast. Yes, so 
will I name thee in future, Plato. I will also give thee 
a pet-name, and call thee Swan, as Socrates named thee, 
and do thou call me Dion. 

Here grows a great deal of hemlock in the w r et, marshy 
ground. I do not fear it ; although it is poison, it is to me 
a sacred plant ; I break it off as I pass, and touch it with my 
lips, because Socrates drank that draught of it. Dear Pla- 
to, it is my amulet that shall heal me from all weakness, so 
that I may not fear death, if it comes rightfully. Good-night, 
my Swan ; go to sleep on the altar of Eros. 

FROM SCHLANGEXBAD. SCXDAY. 

Here is a chapel with a little organ fastened to the wall ; 
the chapel is circular ; a great altar occupies almost the whole 
platform ; this is crowned by a golden pelican, wdiose blood a 
dozen young ones are drinking. I heard the end of the ser- 
mon as I came in ; I know not whether it was the golden 
pelican, the garlands of gold wire and many ornaments 
draped with spiders' webs, the fresh nosegays of roses, and 
the dark panes, where above, just over the pelican, the sun- 
beams streamed through dark red and yellow glass, that at- 
tracted me. The priest was a Franciscan, from the monas- 
tery of Rauenthal. " When I hear men talk of misfortune 
I remember what Jesus said to a young man who wished to 
be received as his disciple. ' The foxes have their holes, the 
birds of the air their nests, but the Son of Man has not 
where to lay his head.' I ask you whether all thoughts of 
sorrow are not conjured away by these words. He had not 
so much as a stone on which he could rest, much less a com- 



26 



GUNDERODE. 



panion who could make him at home in this earthly life ; and 
yet we lament when we lose a beloved friend, refuse to be 
comforted, cannot think it worth our trouble to venture again 
into life, but are languid as if overcome with sleep. Should 
we not be willing to be the companions of Jesus, if need 
were ? should we not wish to be heroes near this great con- 
queror, who bore so loving a heart, that he must call little 
children to him, and bade John lean upon his bosom ? He 
was human, even as we are human ; what forms us to a 
higher existence, namely, the need of love, makes us capable 
of self-denial and sacrifice, was the basis of his divine na- 
ture ; he loved and wished to be beloved, needed love ; — 
because such love is not at home on earth, he found no stone 
on which he could lay his head ; then this pure need of love 
became the divine fire of self-sacrifice ; he offered himself up 
for the sake of mankind ; his soul shone heavenwards, up to 
its native land. Like the flame of sacrifice ascends the prayer 
for the beloved ; the prayer is heard, and we feel ourselves 
all at once purified through this love, and when we conse- 
crate ourselves to the contemplation of it, we become divine 
through its fire, and it is like the breath of God, which calls 
all things into life, every bud of spring. The love of Jesus, 
which could never on earth be satisfied, calls to itself all those 
w T ho are weary and heavy laden ; these are buds still shut- 
up, and heavy with tears ; the mighty sun of divine love will 
wake them to the eternal life of love, for this is all the aim of 
living and striving on earth, Amen." 

These few words were all I heard of the sermon ; but they 
were enough, and accompanied me through the whole day ; 
they sounded in my ear like heavenly music, like the beauti- 
ful Sunday morning. When all had left the church, I went 
down into the little round chapel, then came an old woman 
to put out the candles, and set all in order. I asked whether 
she were sacristan ; she said her son was, but he was away 
this day. I asked where she got so many flowers, as I had 
nowhere seen any flower-garden ; she said, the flowers are 
from our own garden ; my son cultivates them. I wanted to 
see the garden, and she was w r ell pleased to have me ; it was 
about as large as our courtyard at home ; on the white wall 
of the house grape-vines are trained, interwoven with high 
rose-bushes. Roses and grapes, I can think of no fairer 
union. There was a wooden bench beside the wall ; I sat 



GUXD ERODE. 



27 



down quite at the end of it, and the old mother near me ; it 
was hardly large enough for us both ; I was so close to her 
that I leaned my hand on hers, as it lay in her lap ; she had 
a hard hand, and said it was from digging in the ground, 
which is very rocky here. Thou canst not think how fair 
the garden lay there in the sun, for now is the finest time for 
flowers ; when nature is served in due order, immediately 
there is a temple where her creatures rise up like prayers — 
immediately is there an altar loaded with childlike gifts and 
offerings ; so is the little garden, with its neat gravel-walks 
and borders of boxw ood ; the box is a true life's-friend ; from 
year to year it embraces and shelters what the spring offers ; 
plants bud and wither in its embrace, and it preserves, all the 
while, the faithful green, even under the snow ; this said I 
to the old woman, who answered, " Indeed that is true, the 
box has a share in all destinies." But picture to thyself the 
pretty garden on the left of the house, with its vine drapery ; 
a wall adorned with jasmine ; opposite, in the shadow, a thick 
arbor of honeysuckle ; the entrance to the house is bordered 
on each side with tall lilies. How many ranunculuses, speed- 
well, and lavender flowers, a bed of pinks, a mulberry-tree 
in one corner, and, in the other, sheltered against the cold 
wind, two fig-trees with their lovely, delicately folded leaves ; 
truly, I was rejoiced to find comrades of my own tree ; be- 
neath them a spring bursts out into a stone basin ; thence can 
the old woman water her flowers ; in the open window hung 
a cage of canary birds, trilling loud and clear. 0, it was 
true Sunday weather, a Sunday feeling in the air, Sunday 
feeling in my heart. I pray thee, have a care that my tree 
be not neglected by Liesbet ; soon will its fruit be ripe, if 
they are as near it as these in the sexton's garden ; break 
them for thyself. The old mother shook down mulberries 
for me. I collected them in a leaf, and also gathered a nose- 
gay of pinks, and speedwell, and larkspur ; as J was standing 
so still there in the sun, the priest came out; he had been 
taking his breakfast, which the sexton's wife has ready for 
him always after church. He had a fair, calm face, with soft 
eyes, and was yet young. The beautiful words that I had 
so lately been hearing from him, shone out on me again from 
his face ; out of reverence, I could say nothing to him, but he 
looked friendly on me and said, u Ei, how, ripe. 1 mulberries >o 
early ; " I held out the berries to him ; he took some, and my 



28 



GUNDERODE. 



nosegay also, and put it in his sleeve, for I was so surprised, 
when he came near, that I held out both hands, and did not 
perceive, till he thanked me for it, that I had offered him my 
nosegay. Then went he away, and I remained standing, as 
if amazed ; but the dog accompanied him, very politely, to 
the garden-gate, where I heard him say, in gentle tones, " Go 
home, Lelaps." I was well pleased, more than w T ith all the 
days on the terrace, with my Sunday morning. 

When I came home, they were all drinking chocolate with 
Leonhardi ; they asked where I stayed after church. I said 
I had been in the sexton's garden, and there seen the dear 
preacher ; then came the criticism, and the impossibilities of 
antichristian feeling ; the man, it seems, is famous, and Leon- 
hardi had been to hear him, from curiosity, and the two Eng- 
lishmen, and Lotte, and Voigt, also two canonesses, who are 
friends of Leonhardi. Fritz lay upon the bed, looking quite 
blue after his mineral bath ; if this lasts, he will become a 
Moor. Thou shouldst have heard them all chatter together, 
and Niklas Voigt jeering them in his Mentz dialect, and Lotte 
provided with the best of wisdom, and Christian Schlosser. 
I understood not what each said, or rather shrieked, but still 
less what they meant. Niklas, to whom Lotte was pouring 
out her wisdom, reeled like a drunken man around the circle 
of disputants, agreed to all they said, and then cried out, " In 
all my life never did I hear such gibberish as these fools are 
talking ; just listen, Bettine ; was ever such stuff heard ? " 
Then screamed he again to them they were quite right, and 
the preacher was a conceited simpleton. I said, Ei, Voigt — 
" Now, what then can we do ? If you are among wolves, you 
may as well howl with them ; truly the preacher is a simple- 
ton, thus to utter his heavenly wisdom before fools." Then, 
drawing me to the terrace, he spoke with enthusiasm of the 
preacher : " Such another man is not to be found among a 
hundred thousand ; a man who suffers his individual nature 
to be wholly pervaded by God ; a living man, who, alas ! 
preaches wisdom to gaping automatons. No man has devo- 
tion — devotion of soul has no man ! Mouth-devotion and 
restraint, and decorum, such as are taught to hounds, so is 
taught the conscience of these men ; they understand nothing 
better, know not that the complete man is no judge over him- 
self, but a living pas ture where no judgment shall find place, 
but nourishment of soul, yielding heavenly food to wisdom ; 



GUNDERODE. 



29 



true wisdom can only be received and enjoyed, not judged ; 
for it is greater than the understanding that would look 
through it ; but thus goes it ! What helps me the Christian 
religion ? Men are fools, and so must remain. Our Lord 
Jesus was not more fortunate when he dwelt here below. 
Had he come down from heaven a hundred times, he would 
still, like our priest, have preached to ears that could not 
hear, or to stupid people that would interpret him to suit 
themselves. Wash my skin without making it wet ; that is 
the history of this piety. Open your eyes and become wise, 
for our Lord God makes no use of asses ; and such you are in 
danger of remaining, carrying heavy sacks of prejudice on 
your backs, to all eternity ; fit for nothing but the mill in 
which your heads grow constantly more and more giddy." 
This is not all Yoigt said, uttering his maxims right and 
left. But now I want to tell thee further of the Ted chamber- 
lain. Every day we are on the terrace, the ladies giving en* 
tertainments there by turns, and the red crab is always com- 
ing behind me ; so had I a shawl brought from our chamber, 
and laid down close to the princess, and seated myself upon 
it ; since I have made this my place every day he dares not 
come near me ; and when, after tea, we go to walk over the 
hills, the princess takes me always by the hand ; she has a 
sweet, fair, little child, with golden hair, all shining over its 
head ; the darling child, I long to play with it ; and here, in- 
deed, they hold me also a child, because I have not society 
manners, but play ball and run races ; but it is not so easy 
to get at a little princess ; she has always after her a gover- 
ness and guard of nursery women, and it is impossible for 
me to keep up any farce with a child ; I must be with it, un- 
der the care of God, not in the sight of men. Princesses ! 
all dressed in gold and silver — to their births come good 
fairies to make them presents ; so we read in fairy tales ! 
What may they not have given the lovely child. The gifts 
which it yet knows not how to use who shall teach it ? Rev- 
erence, but no hypocritical respect, have I before the destiny 
of each child, not yet unfolded, shut up in so sweet a bud ; 
one feels reverence at touching a young bud which the spring 
is swelling. No talk of grown up men is moving like the 
stammering of a child in the cradle. Only with thee is speech 
living ; where we, without foresight or after-judgment, can 
throw ourselves on the wings of thought, and shout and sail 



30 

i 



GUND ERODE. 



towards heaven. Round such a child's destiny would I fain 
draw a circle. I would put far from him the earthly destiny, 
so that it might be quite indifferent whether this or that fell 
to his lot, and only his heavenly wisdom-destiny might rule. 
Pure good — that is, for childhood, the fountain of refresh- 
ment, out of which it drinks health, at night, when it slum- 
bers, then breathes it blessings, even as the slumbering 
shrubs at evening breathe them as we pass by in the dusk. 
To rock a little child in the moonlight, would surely wake in 
the mind sweet melodies. What avails one the world that is 
so perverted ? All that I see done to children is unjust. 
Magnanimity, confidence, free will, are not given to the nour- 
ishment of their souls ; but a slavish yoke is put upon them. 
Had not the child a world within, where could it take refuge 
from the deluge of folly that is poured over the budding 
meadow-carpet? People say, a child cannot know all things; 
how foolish ! What it can seize, that can it know ; else why 
have the power of conceiving it ? The spirit longs like a 
vine, aspiring up into the free air, and seeks to lay hold on 
something ; then comes folly ; from that, really, it cannot 
suck in anything ; then must the childish spirit die out, else 
how soon would the wisdom of innocence put to shame the 
cunning of vice and impudence. Impatience, and wrath, and 
discord, are opposed to them as authorities ; men are ashamed 
before them of no bad impulse : before others men are 
guarded, hide their faults of nature, but not before children ; 
people think they cannot understand, but should reckon rather 
on their purity, which cannot be made aware of what is bad; 
or on their generosity ; they pardon much, and count it not 
against you. But they are not witless, neither incapable of 
the highest conceptions. Men are so stupid, they reverence 
their own wisdom as an idol, and bring it every sacrifice ex- 
cept of their own faults ; these they never seize upon, nor 
slay them. The living impulse, full of buds, is not es- 
teemed ; to that no outlet shall be given for nature to reach 
the light ; rather must a net be woven, in which each mesh 
is a prejudice, — never to seize a thought from the free air, 
and trust that, but to demand and demonstrate all from the 
Philistine region ; that is the road of life, ready paved for 
the feet, where, instead of living nature, perverted maxims 
and customs wind them round. Voigt said he could scarce 
forbear both weeping and laughing, at the examination of the 



GUNDERODE. 



31 



Normal School, to hear the Jewish children so zealously ex- 
amined about the great deeds of the Greeks and Romans, and 
think what a dirty life-path they would have to wander : 
" Draw, white horse, draw up to thy knees in dirt. Yes, how- 
ever white, he must remain firmly stuck in the morass ; and 
the whole fabric of education is mere fiction ; all is taught by 
example, and great deeds are shown like the chimeras in pic- 
ture-books : each man turns about and leaves them there, 
without farther application of them ; " he said, " I am to every 
one wearisome, but I can assure you the people say you can 
also be wearisome : " he said, "from a child should pure wis- 
dom bloom out. that all thought be in him iovous relic- 
ion, without being taught of crucifixion ; and his soul must 
bloom out, on the tree of life, without question of good or 
bad." 

To-day, the tender little child jammed its finger in the 
door ; the princess was much frightened and near fainting, 
for the child was in great pain. I also was much grieved ; 
it was feverish ; now lies it in the bed and sleeps ; when it 
was quiet, the princess went to walk for refreshment ; she 
took me with her ; I kept running from her side to gather 
the flowers that I saw at a distance ; she took them with 
pleasure, pointing out to me which I should pluck ; but I 
broke off very many, and climbed up every steep place ; the 
ladies wondered at my great, wide leaps, and said I encum- 
bered her highness with so many flowers. I bound up a nose- 
gay with the ribbon from my hat, and said, this is for the sick 
child to play with, not to be put into water ; she took the 
great nosegay, and would not permit any one to carry it for 
her. The company marvelled at my naive manners ; by this 
I observe they mean bad manners ; they think me d half-sav- 
age, because I speak with them little or never; because I 
press through wherever I wish to go ; because, without per- 
mission, I seat myself beside the princess, " as if I had hired 
the place," says Frau Von B. R. : because I come gliding in 
so lightly that nobody perceives it ; because I run away so 
fast that only the Duke of Gotha's hound can keep up with 
me, barking as I spring into the thickets. L. H. says they 
blame my rudeness, that excites the dog to bark so loudly ; 
but he never mentioned what I heard from Tonie, that the 
princess said, " she is a dear child," and the duke added, "a 
most charming child." So I am content. 

My dearest Gunderode, amid all the changes and distrac- 



8^ 



GUNDERODE. 



tions of the day are sounding still the words of the preacher 
within me, as if this were a holy day. Thou and I are, as 
yet, the only two who think in harmony ; we have yet found 
no third who can think with us, or to whom we have confided 
what we think. Thou not, and I not. Nobody knows what 
we plan together ; and, for a whole year past, we have left 
people to wonder why I must run every day to thy house. 
But had that priest been in Frankfort, I would have asked 
him to go with me to see thee. He has, surely, no friend ; 
his own soul must be his friend, that can answer him. I am 
thinking whether one cannot converse with one's own soul. 
Where did the demon of Socrates dwell ? I think each man 
may have a demon that would speak to him, but this demon 
can only answer to un profaned and sincere questioning ; I 
think, too, no other will must mingle therein, but only the 
desire to be answered. Question is love, and answer mutual 
love. Where the question is pure love to the demon, he an- 
swers ; the spirit cannot resist love, as in me and thee. Ever 
since I knew about Socrates, is the thought ever in my mind, 
like him, to have a demon ; he had, indeed, an inner sanctu- 
ary, an asylum where the demon could come to him. I have 
sought in myself for this door to being alone, where I could 
behold this spirit of wisdom, face to face, supplicating for 
love. But thou sayst truly, a capricious wind drives my 
thoughts hither and thither like spray. I am carried from 
one to the other by this dissipating spirit ; then is it so empty 
within me, so shamefully desolate, when I would collect my- 
self. How could the spirit remain where it is so desolate ? 
Socrates did great deeds first, and never belied his genius ; 
then came it to him. I say to myself, leave off trying; the 
spirit w r ould come of itself, would thy nature give it a home. 
I think, too, the spirit must spring up from united nature- 
powers, and I have no fire-nature which can so concentrate 
itself that the spirit will spring up from it ; yet I would have 
it so ; I long after it. I have it not, but I think towards it, 
and offer all to it, in my nightly thoughts ; and many times 
write I to thee as wert thou its harbinger, and it would, 
through thee, learn all from me. Many times, when we w ere 
prattling together, by the still glimmering fire of thy stove, 
as the March snow fell down from the tree before thy win- 
dow, I thought what shakes then the tree ? and then was I at 
once so inspired as if something listened, and excited me, and 
thou saidst our speech is filling with gas ; thought after 



GUXDERODE. 



33 



thought soared into the clouds, and became like the romantic 
lights seen above in the balls of mild glow. The rattling of 
the branches covered with snow ; the inquisitive moonlight 
on the wall ; the little fire blazing up ; thou and I playing 
with thy fingers as we talked ; all this was so, that* I thought 
the spirit must be near by to separate us from all folly ; life, 
also, was so far off ; in the street, as I went home, I met peo- 
ple, and felt as if there was a wall of separation between me 
and them, and all that was passing in the world. Yes, the 
world, which also should live by inspiration, as a tree by dew, 
streams out so many stifling vapors (ennuis) that the soul 
cannot breathe there. 

To-day are the fruits and flowers arrived, all still fresh. 
Thy letter is still fragrant with the heliotrope and yellow 
jasmine in my bosom, where I have hidden it. What thou 
sayst seems to be announced to me, through *thee, by the 
demon. Thou hast decked his wisdom with balsam-breath- 
ing flowers of speech. I shall and must yield to thee, — 
must I not ? .Thinkst thou the demon will be chagrined if I 
do not yield to it with the jealousy, and that my passion 
sparkles up into such proud flames, and will take him pris- 
oner where he has hid himself in thee ? Jealousy issues from 
the spirit of love as were it the demon's self ; it is a strongly 
moving power. I know what I owe it. Indeed, perhaps it 
is a shape in which the demon clothes itself. When I am 
iealous my mood becomes divine ; all must I disdain ; all see 
I beneath me ; because in me shines so clear a light, and 
nothing seems unattainable. I fly where others toilsomely 
creep ; and, while my heart beats anxiously, in the spirit is a 
mighty rushing. I feel such high defiance, it makes me faint 
and weak ; but my mood sinks not, it is yet stronger when I 
revive. But what seek I then? What would I conquer to 
myself? Yes, it is certainly the demon that I descry. When 
I seized on thy hand and began to weep, it was because the 
demon mocked me ; not for thy secrets which thou hast with 
otiiers whom I know not — I feel they cannot come between 
me and thee ! Whither wilt thou ? Me and thee ; nothing 
touches us in our proper relation, one with the other. But 
fire is struck out of me, &o that I would fain seize him, and 
cling fast to him, fur he was certainly oft betwixt us two, 
and I sought to seize him as I went from thee. Yes, it is 
jealousy ; how can it be otherwise? How can I flatter him ? 
3 



34 



GUNDERODE. 



How trust him. I know not whether he listens to me. But 
that my jealousy becomes excited when I descry him, that I 
beat powerfully my wings about him who himself excites me 
to this, that is the voice of the truth, of warm love. Yes, 
yes ! I need not exhaust myself in preparations ; I am no 
more absent, neither timid. Ah, Gunderode, and now he an- 
swers me so gently in thy letter. Thou hast become wholly 
sympathetic, through him. He has attuned thee, and an- 
nounces to me, in thy words, how the tree of truth between 
us will grow up and strengthen, and that I must not be afraid. 
Indeed, I believe that all comes from him which thou writest 
to me ; he sweetens the pauses with dreams of him, and 
promises that he will fill out all space with flowers of the 
spirit, as the sea is filled with waves. 

Eternity is all-embracing feeling ; is it not true ? So says 
the narcissus to the violet, and she sinks her look into her 
own bosom, and makes her home in the infinity of love which 
she there divines and learns to conceive. Not of all is love 
capable ; yet, when I follow him that is capable of this, I will 
break through. Where shall my soul set her foot ? Every- 
where is she a stranger, except in the self-conquered empire 
of love. Do I understand myself? I know not. My eyes 
were falling into sleep so suddenly as I mused, and I must, 
to-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, give my letter to the 
carrier ; my light burns dully ; it will soon go out. Good- 
night, letter. The moon shines so clear into my room, i| 
seems to vibrate. The hills opposite are splendid, sending up 
their mists beneath the moon. Positively, the light will go 
out ; but I will try whether I cannot write by the moonshine. 
I am as pleased as the leaves when rained on in the night, 
and the sky becomes clear again ; they go to sleep so quiet, 
because the storm is past. All this time I have been hear- 
ing a strange bird shrieking ; can that be the owl, whom 
Frau Hoch calls the bird of death ? He shrieks close before 
my window. I am ashamed, but I am a little afraid. My 
room is so dark, and the light will be out in a moment ; the 
hills, there above, are so awful, I see strange shapes ; the 
little fountain, beneath my window, rustles as soft and delib- 
erate as an old house-ghost. Why am I so silly ? I demand 
a demon to visit my soul, and then am afraid of an owl ! So 
soon as I thought this, I opened the window and looked out ; 
the bird flew away ; a thousand stars were sparkling in the 



GUXD ERODE. 



35 



heavens: beneath the window I see my invalid sentinel, 
waiting, probably, for the serenade from my guitar, which he 
usually hears at this hour. I will sing him a hymn for the 
Holy Virgin, as it is to-day the ascension of the Virgin, and 
not Sunday, as I mistakingly writ. I have written all this 
page by moonlight. Thou wilt not be able to read it ; but 
no matter, there is nothing needful for thee to know. I feel 
so well, after the little fright, I am no longer sleepy. The 
moon swims hastily forth from behind the white clouds ; 
it presses on my heart ; I must sing, else I shall weep. Good- 
night- BETTIXE. 

Giinderodchen, those Englishmen are right foolish pas- 
sengers ; they brought me a letter from L Ange, that warns 
me not to fall in love with them. He, with the powdered 
hair. Mr. Haise. yesterday exhibited himself on the terrace 
in a nankeen frock and yellow slippers. Tonie saw him out 
of the window, and would not go down ; she is ashamed to 
have him speak to her before people, he looks so strangely. 
But he peeped up to our window, and. seeing Tonie. called 
on her to come down and enjoy the splendid weather. I 
must needs go to ; he put up a great umbrella to shade her 
from the sun, made her walk up and down the terrace ; Iran 
up and made a sketch of them, which I put into Tonie's 
work-box, that she always takes down-stairs at tea-time, and 
amused myself beforehand with the amazement that would 
be seen when it was discovered. But Tonie crumpled the 
paper up, and wound silk on it, and wanted to pout at me; 
but I had made her a pretty crown of ferns, that became her 
so much, enhancing even her wonderful beauty, that at last 
we went pleasantly together to the ball, where were nearly 
as many caricatures as human beings. Clemens wrote from 
Weimar to warn me against falling in love, — a superfluous 
care. Had he but been at this ball ! to be rudely jostled is 
the only danger. L. H. was there, with his sisters, all grow- 
ing more blue-black every day with their bath ; his extra 
white jabot and cravat made this fact all the more striking ; 
he was elegantly dressed ; for, having an ambition for diplo- 
matic honors, he neglects no opportunity thus to distinguish 
himself. So long as we stood at the entrance, where was a 
great crowd, nothing singular was remarked ; but when L. H. 
stepped lorward to pay his compliments to some one, Franz, 



GUNDERODE. 



who sat by my side, perceived that, instead of a coat, he had 
on a jacket, without flaps, round like a butcher's doublet. 
This looked quite too droll with his black silk small-clothes, 
white silk stockings, and shoes with buckles ; in short, full 
court-dress, and opera-hat under his arm. He had, while 
the family were getting ready for the ball, gone into his 
chamber, where the wind put out his light, to get his coat, 
and taken up instead this spencer. As yet he had not shown 
his back to the public at large, but only to us. Council was 
held in all haste, and then resolved, two ladies, Lotte and B., 
should, holding him in talk, gently draw him backwards 
without revealing to him the dangers of his situation, till 
he should be saved ; meanwhile, Tonie, Franz, and Yoigt 
formed a little rear-guard to protect his back. I was ex- 
cluded from this enterprise, being unfitted by laughter at the 
inexhaustible sallies of Franz. The rear-guard advanced, 
cutting off many a wondering gaze from the flapless back ; 
they trod ever more warily the nearer they came ; so glide 
bird-fanciers behind the bird on whose tail they would strew 
salt in order to catch it ; but he flies away before they can 
get near enough. Just so chanced it here : just as they got 
close, and thought to catch him, he turned suddenly round. 
Alas ! I sprang behind the window-curtain, and wrapped 
myself in it to laugh at will, and presently went away, for I 
was in too gay a humor for society-halls. Voigt went with 
me and narrated further, that the rear-guard let him pass 
through, then closed their ranks, transporting him like a' 
noble prisoner of state to the entrance ; there he halted, was 
made acquainted with his aesthetic misfortune, and then with- 
drew with his faithful attendants. Surely none of them will 
close an eye this night ; for, as his hopes were turned towards 
the court of Hesse, there is no knowing how far he may 
have undermined his fortunes by his skirtless presentation. 

Yoigt walked with me awhile up and down the terrace, 
where it was so still that we could hear the violins from the 
ball-room ; the clouds drew by, prophesying a storm, and 
veiling the starry host till they sank upon our hills. The 
trees stood reverently, awaiting the blessing of the shower ; 
the whole country looked as if it turned its face towards its 
Creator. Voigt forgot the witticisms with which he had 
been deluging me ; the distant lights and fires, from the cot- 
tages round about, sparkled through the dark trees like fires 



GUND ERODE. 



37 



of sacrifice to the all-loving. As far as we could see, the 
world looked as if praying our Lord God to grant a sweet 
night to all, to thee and me, to our whole life, even to the 
last night. So is nature, sweet intercessor, always there ; 
all sighs she lulls to rest ; therefore will we thank her and 
trust her even until the last night. 

As to Clemens and his warnings, I have written to him. 
The lindens bloom, indeed, and breathe sweetly on me, as no 
man does, and nature is fairer, and tenderer, and grander 
than all the wisdom of this world. What any man can say 
to me thereupon, I would answer by pressing into his hand a 
fir-cone, or a snail creeping on the path, or a bitten wood- 
apple. Such would be more to the point than the answers 
that come into my head. No earth-destiny interests me, 
because I yet have no freedom to guide it. Were I on the 
throne, I would roll about the world, with smiling courage, 
said I, yesterday, to Voigt. " Truly," said he, " on the new 
side could it hardly lie more uneasy than on the old. All 
the tedious persons that hold such a rank among fools are an 
absurd evidence of their ludicrous authority; they have such 
a respect for their high vocation, that they dare not speak to 
their own consciences ; they think what happens through 
them must be the key of fate, opening through them the 
future, which already lay there, not to be prevented through 
their folly. They dare not venture to form themselves to 
perfect manhood, and thus to represent the higher claims of 
man. O, no ! the more closely the requisitions of the time 
press upon them, the more they think it needful to intrench 
themselves in Philisterei, and prop themselves with old, 
worm-eaten prejudices, and take counsel of all sorts, public 
and private, which cannot choose but be perverted ; for the 
right and true is so infinitely simple, that, even for that cause, 
it is never brought forward. If all the Pharisees in the gov- 
ernment-machine became suddenly blind, the world would 
not suffer ; no danger of its going out like an unsnuffed can- 
dle." Thus is Voigt accustomed to talk politics to me be- 
neath the starry heavens ; also he said, u Listen to me yet 
again. You are still young, and have more judgment than 
the others ; where theirs is gone, let them ask one another ; 
their ears itch for falsehood, turning away from truth or in- 
terpreting it at their own pleasure, so that it becomes mere 
fable to them." Voigt will listen to no man ; all clamor 



§8 



GUNDERODE. 



against him ; but I feel honored that he interprets to me the 
earnest greatness of his mind ; I listen to him gladly. He is 
so short and decided betwixt right and wrong, and loses no 
time in wavering, so that only a heroic character could follow 
him. " For a friend one must be able to die. Who will not 
give all, even his self-sought greatness, to sustain his friend, 
belongs not to the kind of creatures that can feel friendship. 
What is feeling ? color, that has its life only from the ray of 
light, that is to say love ; thus need we have no respect for 
sentiment, — it is mere stuff of the imagination. There are 
a thousand actions for which one can blame nobody, yet a 
high-minded person would kill himself out of humility for 
them ; now, if any man reveals to his friend all the faults in 
his nature that contradict him, slays he not on the spot all 
Pharisees ?" 

I have not retained the tenth part of what he said yester- 
day evening, for he is sudden as a smith with his red-hot 
iron. I asked him why he did not talk so before the others ; 
he said, " If I wish to drink wine with any one, I need a 
goblet into which I can pour it ; your soul is such a goblet." 

TO GUND ERODE. 

Twice, three times between oaks and beeches and young 
light bushes, hill up, hill down — then comes one to a rock, 
— smooth, shining basalt surfaces, catching the sunbeams 
like a dark magical mirror ; between are green moss-seats ; — 
this morning went I thither ; it is my usual walk when I am 
alone, — not too long and yet secluded, — there saw I the 
mist, like young down between the rock-clefts, floating hither 
and thither, and above me was it ever more golden ; the 
morning-shadows drew aside, the sun crowned me ; it struck 
back sharply from the black stone, it burned very fiercely, 
yet oppressed not my forehead. I would willingly wear a 
crown, if it pressed no harder than the hot August sun. So 
sat I and sung to the rocks, and listened for the echoes, and 
thoughts of empire rose into my head. To govern the world, 
according to the maxims which have been produced in the 
innermost workshop of my feelings, and to drive out Philis- 
tines everywhere, such are the wishes that rise to my head 
in such a hot summer morning, and to which Voigt's speech 
of the stars had now given a powerful excitement ; he said, 
ft Each feeling, each conception, becomes a capacity and a 



GUXDERODE. 



39 



possession ; it draws itself back, indeed, but, at a wholly un- 
expected hour, it conies forth again;" and then I seated 
myself in a lonely place, and feigned such things out into the 
blue and came to nothing, except tameless heart-beatings, as 
I thought that I might quiet the shrieking of the Philistines, 
who stifle by their formulas the voice of the spirit, merely 
by the government of my feelings ; indeed, this would be a 
heavenly compensation for those blows of the rod, with which 
they blindly persecute all inspiration. Giinderode, I would 
thou wert a ruler and I thy Kobold; that would be my prov- 
ince, and I know certainly that I should be discreet before 
the pure life-flame. But now, is it a wonder that one is 
stupid ? Thus was I beneath the burning sun, sunk in medi- 
tation, chasing on a steed, like the wind, to all quarters of 
the globe ; and as thy delegate of lofty inspiration set the 
world to rights, commanding hither and thither, sometimes 
with the stamp of the foot, or threatening word, to make mat- 
ters go on quick : — meanwhile I had neglected to read the 
dramalet, which I took out with me, intending to study it 
really ; but now the impetuous motions of my soul I felt 
compelled to soothe in sleep, as always I do when my temples 
burn thus from zeal about the future. 0, goblet of the soul, 
how artistic and divinely gifted is thy rim made so that it 
may restrain the rushing floods of life, inevitably else should 
I have overflowed thee. My friend, the hound, scented me 
out, but he waked me with his barking, and wanted me to 
play with him. He barked so loud that all the rocks groaned 
and echoed ; it seemed as if a whole hunt Avere out ; I must 
shout too for joy and gayety ; he brought me my straw hat, 
which I had thrown down the steep rock, with such graceful 
leaps ; — so is it when we wish through love to please any 
one. we do not measure the dangers of the pit, but trust in 
our own powers and succeed. Ah, Giinderode, it would be 
much if man would trust his own genius as this hound. He 
laid his paws on my shoulders when he had brought me back 
the hat without hurting it ; in jest I named him Erodion, 
thinking he must even so have looked up to the goddess Im- 
mortalita, for he was so noble and fair and bold ; men look 
not easily out so simply great and undisturbed in their own 
wise, as animals do. The Duke had followed the barking of 
his dog, and now came forth from behind the trees ; he asked 
why I gave that name to the dog, which he calls Cales ; this 



40 



GTJNDEKODE. 



he said was the name of a charioteer slain before Troy by 
Diomed ; I showed him thy poem to explain whence I took 
the name Erodion. He sat down on the rock and read it 
partly aloud, making notes with a pencil ; I send these to 
thee ; he has read it with self-collection, and thus truly with 
love. I know not how often chance may favor thee so that 
thou mayst touch the more delicate strings of the soul ; thus 
will it rejoice thee. He asked whether I understood the 
poem ; I said no ! but I like to read it because thou art my 
friend who educatest me. He said, " A bud is this little 
work, carefully guarded from each foreign influence which 
the great soul of the friend embraces, and in this softly folded 
germ of a yet undeveloped speech slumber giant powers. 
The inspiration to recreate lifts up its wings within thee, full 
of presentiment, and because the world is too unclean for 
such childlike pure essays to express thy presentiments, so 
will it not unfold this unpretending veil which embraces thy 
far-reaching imagination and thy high philosophic spirit." 
With surprise I received the pleasure of this praise. He 
walked on with me, and, as we went, would have me talk of 
thee, of our life together, of thy character, of thy form ; 
then have I, for the first time, reflected how fair thou art ; 
we saw a well-grown white silver birch in the distance, with 
its hanging boughs, which had grown up out of a cleft in the 
midst of the rock, and, softly moved by the wind, bent down- 
wards toward the valley. To this I involuntarily pointed, as 
I spoke of thy spirit and thy form ; the Duke said, 44 Then is 
the friend like that birch?" I said, 44 Yes ; " so would he go 
with me and look on thee nearer. The path was so steep and 
slippery, I thought we could not go ; but he said Cales would 
find us out a way. " What sort of hair has she ?" — 44 Glossy 
black-brown hair, which flows freely in loose soft curls on her 
shoulders." — 44 And her eyes ? " — 44 Pallas-eyes, blue in 
color, full of fire, but also liquid and calm." — 44 Her fore- 
head ? 44 Soft and white as ivory, nobly arched and free, 
small, yet broad like Plato's ; eyelashes that smiling curl 
backward ; brows like two black dragons that, measuring 
one another with sharp look, neither seizing nor leaving one 
another, proudly raise their crests, then fearfully smooth them 
again. Thus watches each brow, defying yet timid, over the 
soft glances of her eyes." — 44 And the nose and cheek ?" — 
44 The nose has been censured as a little proud and disdain- 



GUNDERODE. 



41 



ful, but that is because the nostril trembles with ever) 7 feel- 
ing, hardly taming the breath, as thoughts rise upwards from 
the lip, which swells out fresh and powerful, guarded and 
gently restrained by the delicate upper lip." Even the chin 
must I describe ; truly I have not forgotten that Erodion had 
had his seat there and left a little hollow, which the finger is 
pressed into as poetry full of wisdom expands her spirit. 
Meanwhile, there stood the birch so gorgeous, so filled with 
gold, so whispered through, by the sun, by the breeze, so 
willing to bow itself gently to the stream of the morning 
wind, waving its green waves joyfully into the blue heaven, 
that I could not decide, what lay between both, suits one, 
and not the other. Cales found with many leaps the way to 
the birch ; the Duke followed ; I remained behind ; I could 
easily have followed, but I would not in his presence. He 
cut letters in the bark, quite low down near to the foot, and 
said he wished it might be called the friendship-birch, and 
that he also might be our friend. I was willing. Ah, let 
him ; he will come this winter to Frankfort ; at first a prince 
forgets easily such a matter among many other distractions, 
for he cannot believe it possible that, if a man but gave him- 
self entirely to one thing, through this alone the penetration, 
the force of judgment, the all-sidedness can arise, for which 
they are all hunting and fluttering about ; — besides, he is 
sick and has few good days ; for such an one must we fill out 
from all healing fountains. Adieu. — To-morrow morning a 
great party is formed for a donkey excursion ; and to-morrow 
before noon goes the good Princess away ; and very early, 
about three o'clock, the Englishmen wish to climb the hill 
with us to see the sun rise ; the others did not wish to have 
Voigt ; but I would have him, for else I am weary, though 
the others say it makes them weary to have him there. 
Early to-morrow comes the carrier woman ; I shall send this 
letter by her, though it is not yet so alarmingly long as my 
first ; but thou art melancholy, and I would fain amuse thee a 
little, and I know the pretty story of the Duke will make thee 
laugh, however thou mayst draw thy lips together. Grant it 
may make thee pleasure also. I have copied his declaration 
of love from thy Immortalita, that from his own hand belongs 
to thee ; he wrote it for thee. Thou mayst put a value on 
it; I hear he is celebrated, of noble nature, witty, and on that 
account much feared by many ; he is also very generous and 



4-2 



GUNDERODE. 



kindly, but many would rather have nothing to do with him, 
fearing his best friendliness covers a secret satire. How 
foolish is that ; about me might any one make merry as much 
as he would ; it would be pleasant to me if he enjoyed it. 

Paper sent back to GUnclerode with the preceding letter. 
IMMORTAL IT A. 

Dramatis personce, 

Immortalita, sl goddess. 

JErodion. 

Charon, 

Hecate. 

FIRST SCENE. 

A dark cavern, at the entrance of the lower world. In 
the background of this cavern are seen the Styx and Cha- 
ron's bark passing hither and thither, in the foreground a 
black altar on which fire is burning. The trees and plants 
at the entrance of the cavern, and indeed all the decorations, 
and the figures of Hecate, and Charon, are flame-color and 
black, the shadows light gray, Immortalita white ; Erodion 
dressed like a Roman youth. A great fiery snake, which has 
its tail in its mouth, forms a circle out of which Immortalita 
does not pass. 

Immortalita {awaking). Charon! Charon! Charon! 

Charon {stopping his boat). Why dost thou call me? 

Immortalita. When will the time come ? 

Charon. Look at the snake at thy feet ; so long as the cir- 
cle is unbroken the spell lasts also, thou knowest it ; then 
why dost thou ask me ? 

Immortalita. Unkind old man, if it comforts me yet once 
again to hear thy promise of a better future, why dost thou 
deny me a friendly word ? 

Charon. We are in the land of silence. 

Immortalita. Prophesy to me yet once again — 

Charon. I hate speech. 

Immortalita. Speak — speak! 

Charon. Ask Hecate. {He rows away.) 



GUXD ERODE. 



43 



Immortalita {strewing incense on the altar). Hecate, god- 
dess of midnight, discoverer of the future which yet sleeps 
in the bosom of chaos, mysterious Hecate ! Appear ! 

Hecate. Powerful exorcist, — why callest thou me from 
out the caves of eternal midnight ; this shore is hateful to 
me ; its gloom too full of light ; it seems to me that gleams 
from the land of life have wandered hither. 

Immortalita. Hecate, forgive, and hear my prayer. 

Hecate. Pray not ; thou art queen here, thou reignest, and 
knowest it not. 

Immortalita. I know it not ; and wherefore do I not 
know it ? 

Hecate. Because thou canst not see thyself. 
Immortalita. Who will show me a mirror in which I may 
behold myself? 
Hecate. Love. 

Immortalita. And wherefore Love? 

Hecate. Because the infinity of that alone answers to 
thine. 

Immortalita. How far does my kingdom extend? 

Hecate. Everywhere, if once beyond that barrier. 

Immortalita. How ! shall the impenetrable wall that sep- 
arates my province from the upper world ever fall asunder? 

Hecate. It will fall asunder ; thou wilt dwell in light, all 
shall find thee. 

Immortalita. when shall this be ? - 

Hecate. When believing Love tears thee away from 
night. 

Immortalita. When — in hours — or years ? 

Hecate. Count not by hours — with thee time is not. 
Look down ; the snake winds about as if in pain, but vainly 
he fixes his teeth more firmly to keep close the imprisoning 
circle — vain is this resistance ; the empire of unbelief, of 
barbarism, and night must fall to ruins. (She vanishes.) 

Immortalita. future — wilt thou but resemble that 
blessed distant past when I dwelt with the gods in perpetual 
glory. I smiled on them all, and at my smile their looks 
lightened as never from the nectar, and Hebe thanked me 
for her youth, and the ever-blooming Aphrodite for her 
charms. But, separated from me by the darkness of time, 
before my breath had lent them permanence, they fell from 
their thrones, those serene gods, and went back into the ele- 



44 



GUNDERODE. 



ments of life : Jupiter into the power of the primeval heav- 
ens, Eros into the hearts of men, Minerva into the minds of 
the wise, the Muses into the songs of the poets, and I, most 
unhappy of all, was not permitted to bind the unfading laurel 
upon the brows of the hero, of the poet. Banished into this 
kingdom of night, a land of shadows, this gloomy other-side ; 
I must live only for the future. 

Charon {passing in his boat with Shades), Bow your- 
selves, Shades, this is the Queen of Erebus, and that you 
still live after your earthly life is her work. 

CHORUS OF SHADES. 

Silent guides us the bark 

To the unknown land, 
Where the sun never dawns 

On the always dark strand, — 
Reluctantly we see it go, 
No other sphere our looks would know 

Than life's bright-colored land. 

SAME SCENE. 

(Charon's bark lands, Erodion springs on shore, Immor- 
talita still seen in the background,) 

Erodion, Back, Charon, from this shore, which no shade 
may tread ! Why lookest thou upon me ? I am not a shadow 
like you ; a joyful hope, a faith full of visions have kindled 
the spark of my life to flame. 

Char 071 (aside). Surely this must be the youth w T ho bears 
in himself the golden future. (He rows away.) 

Immortalita. Yes, thou art he, prophesied to me by 
Hecate ; through thy look will the light of day break into 
these ancient caverns, and dispel the night. 

Erodion, If I am he prophesied to thee, maiden or god- 
dess, however thou art named, believe thou fulfillest to me 
the inmost presentiment of the heart. 

Immortalita. Say, who art thou ? — what is thy name, and 
how didst thou find the way to this pathless shore, where 
neither shades nor men dare wander, but only subterranean 
gods ? 

Erodion. I am unwilling to speak to thee of anything but 
my love ; indeed to speak of my love is to speak of my life. 
Then hear me. I am the son of Eros and Aphrodite ; the 
double-union of love and beauty has implanted in my being 



GUND ERODE. 



45 



an idea of bliss which I nowhere find, yet must everywhere 
foresee and seek. Long was I a stranger upon earth. I 
could not enjoy its perishable goods, till at last came into my. 
soul a dim presentiment of thee. Everywhere was I accompa- 
nied by the Idea reflected from thee ; everywhere I followed 
the trace of the beloved, even when it plunged me down into 
the realm of dreams, thus guiding me to the gates of the 
lower world, but never could I press through to thee, an un- 
happy fate drew me ever back to the upper world. 

Immortalita. How. youth, hast thou so loved me that, 
rather than not find me, thou wouldst have forsaken Helios 
and the rosy dawn ? 

Erodion. So have I loved thee ; and. without thee, the 
earth no more could give me joy ; neither the flowery spring, 
the sunny day. nor dewy night, which to possess, the gloomy 
Pluto would willingly resign his sceptre. But as the love of 
my parents was beyond all other, for they were love itself, so 
the desire which has drawn me to thee was most powerful, 
and my faith in finding thee victorious over all obstacles ; for 
my parents knew that the child of love and beauty could find 
nothing higher than itself, and gave me this faith in thee that 
my powers might not be exhausted by striving after some- 
what higher out of myself. 

Immortalita. But how earnest thou to me at last? Unwill- 
ingly does Charon receive the living into the brittle bark 
made only for the shades. 

Erodion. Once was my longing to see thee so great, that 
all men have invented to surround thee with uncertainty, 
seemed to me little and vain. Courage inspired my whole 
being ; my only wish is for her, thought I, and boldly cast 
from me all the goods of this earth, and steered my bark 
hitherward to the perilous rock where everything earthly is 
wrecked. A moment I thought, what if thou shouldst lose 
all. and find nothing ? but high confidence pressed doubt 
aside ; joyously I said to the upper world a last farewell, 
night embraced me, — a ghastly pause, — and I found myself 
with thee. The torch of my life still burns the other side of 
the Stygian water. 

Immortalita. The heroes of the former world have already 
tried this same path ; courage enabled them to pass the river, 
but to love only is it given to found here a permanent empire. 
The dwellers here say my breath bestows immortal life, then 



46 



GUND ERODE. 



be thou immortal, for thou hast worked in me an inexpres- 
sible change ; before I lived a mummy-life, but thou hast 
breathed into me a soul. Yes, dear youth, in thy love I 
behold myself transfigured ; I now know who I am, know 
that the sunny day must fill with light these ancient caverns. 

(Hecate comes from behind the altar.) 

Hecate. Erodion, enter into the snake circle. (He does so, 
and the snake vanishes.} Too long, Immortalita, wert thou 
in the night of unbelief and barbarism, known by the few, 
despaired of by the many, confined by a spell within this 
narrow circle. An oracle, as old as the world, says, " Believ- 
ing love will find thee even in the darkness of Erebus, draw 
thee forth, and found thy throne in everlasting glory, acces- 
sible to all." The time is come, but to thee, Erodion, re- 
mains yet somewhat to be done. 

(The scene changes into a part of the Elysian garden^ 
faintly illuminated; shadows are seen gliding hither and 
thither ; on one side a rock ; in the background the Styx and 
Charon's bark.) 

Hecate. See, Erodion, this threatening rock is the impas- 
sable wall of separation, which divides the realm of mortal 
life from that of thy mistress ; it intercepts from this place 
the sunbeams, and prevents severed loves from meeting 
again. Erodion, try to throw down the rock, that thy be- 
loved may ascend on the ruins from the narrow dominion of 
the lower world, that in future no impassable barrier may 
separate the land of the dead from that of the living. 

(Erodion strikes the rock, it falls, full daylight shines in.) 

Immortalita. Triumph ! the rock is sunken, and from this 
time it shall be permitted the thoughts of love, the dreams of 
hope, the inspiration of the poet to descend hither and to 
return. 

Hecate. All hail ! Threefold, immortal life will fill the 
pale realm of shades now thy empire is founded. 

Immortalita. Come, Erodion, ascend with me into eternal 
light, and all love, all nobleness, shall share my empire. 
Thou, Charon, smooth thy brow ; be friendly guide to those 
who would enter my kingdom. 

Erodion. Well for me that I faithfully tended, as a vestal 



GUXD ERODE. 



47 



fire, the holy presentiment of my heart ; well for me that I 
had courage to die to mortality, to live for immortality, to 
offer up the visible to the invisible. 

The following note was written by the hand of the Duke Emil August yon Gotha 
upon the manuscript of Immortalita. 

" It is a little thing not worthy thy attention, that I esteem 
it a gift from heaven to understand thee, thou noble life. 
Looking down upon the earth, thou mayst, like the sun, give 
it a fair day ; but thou wouldst look in vain for thy peer be- 
neath the stars. 

Like fresh flower-stalks comes the careless life of thy 
thoughts before the subdued man ; his bosom heaves with 
deep breathings, as thy spirit plays round him like loose 
tresses, just escaped from the band. 

" He gazes on thee, a lover ! like still roses, and waving 
lilies, hover before him thy thoughts, bearing blessings on 
their glances. Confidential, near the heart are they. They 
illuminate and beautify his aims, and his vocation, and on the 
silent paths of night are the stars, looking from on high, the 
witnesses of his vow to thee. 

u Yet is it a little thing only, not worthy thy attention, that 
I esteem it as a gift from heaven to understand thee, thou 
noble life ! emil august." 

TO BETTIXE. 

Thy letter, dear Bettine, is like the introduction to a 
charming romance ; I have sipped it as wine from the gob- 
let of Lyeeus ; it was the more sweet to me, that I have, just 
now. care from things such as are indeed an inevitable con- 
sequence of life itself, and thence not unexpected ;* these I 
will not impart to thee, because they do not accord with thy 
way of life. Thou art my bit of a sun that warms me, while 
everywhere else frost falls upon me. I am about to leave 
town for a few weeks ; yet, if a letter arrives on Thursday, 
it will find me ; the next I shall find on my return, and soon 
again we shall be constantly together. Let thy letters be 
right gladsome without sorrowful echo ; thy nature is adapted 
to a free unimpeded enjoyment of life. The gloomy, disturb- 
ing emotions thou hast sometimes described, are only tokens 



* She had just lost a sister. See Correspondence with a Child. 



48 



GUND ERODE. 



of mysterious fermentations that cannot find room to filter 
themselves clear ; I see this when I compare thy present 
natural humor with the excited one which fell upon thee 
here and made me so anxious about thee. But in truth thou 
hadst only need to cease breathing the stifling air of the city. 
Thou art like a plant ; a slight shower refreshes thee ; the 
air inspires and the sun transfigures thee. Tonie writes 
how well you are looking, and that no trace of the interesting 
paleness is now visible ; guess who cannot conceal his vex- 
ation at this ? " Elle ne sera plus ce qu'elle a ete," was 
his answer to all my consolations. But I would rather have 
thee improve at the expense of that interesting paleness, 
than hear daily that thy animation will be the death of thee ; 
a saying comic in truth, and that is aimed at me. In truth I 
did not spare reproaches to myself. What thou calledst 
drow r siness, Sommering called nervous fever. He says thou 
hast no comprehension of sickness, but hast gone through 
those of childhood, as if they were amusing games ; this one 
came from excessive study. The philosophic expressions, 
Absolutism, Dualism, Highest Potency,* with which thou 
w T ert always playing in thy feverish fancies, bore witness 
against me. I have firmly resolved this winter only to un- 
dertake with thee such things as agree with thee entirely. I 
was not alone to blame ; others in whom I confide and who 
thought like me of thy sense for philosophy, also thought it 
ought to be developed. I followed, innocently, my instruc- 
tions, esteeming thy opposition to arise from thy wonted re- 
luctance to give thyself to any earnest pursuit. Hohen- 
feld tells me that Ebel said thy aversion to philosophic 
studies drove thee into a bilious nervous fever ; he warned 
me, saying, she is a simple, uninformed young girl, and her 
head is not for philosophy ; it may by such studies be excited 
and made giddy, but no wiser, &c. I divined that he was a 
diplomatic envoy from prudent people who know much about 
a person without that person knowing anything of them. His 
citations of the exaggerated narrations and absurd comments 
in circulation here among the Philistines amused me. Thy 
own letter which, like the young shrub,- throws off the dead 
leaves, and grows green in fresh shoots, makes me agree with 
the good Hohenfeld ; also, it pleases me better than any 



* See Correspondence with a Child. 



GUNDERODE. 



49 



learning I might force upon thee. Thou hast feeling for the 
every-day life of nature. Dawn, noontide, and evening 
clouds are thy dear companions with whom thou canst con- 
verse when no man is abroad w r ith thee. Let us exchange, 
and I be thy scholar in simplicity, as thou hast esteemed thy- 
self my scholar when I was trying to form thee into an Es- 
prit fort. Now, where it backward goes, must thou be my 
teacher ; a timid person may climb a hill in safety, but to de- 
scend the steep path, demands resolution, such as thou hast. 
Thou dost never grow giddy, art never afraid to cross hedges 
and ditches. Already, happy speculations, in the spirit of 
simplicity, are dawning on me. I was delighted to say to the 
dean of the cathedral, who holds me so high, a few silly 
things in the character of deserter. I said one which made 
him clasp his hands, referring my declaration, that I learn 
much from you, and gain more from your society than that of 
others, to my never knowing how to value myself duly ; every 
one wonders why I give my precious time to the wind. Now 
it cannot be but, by and by, the delightful simplicity will be 
recognized as mine also, and no one will envy me because 
they know not how to prize the knowledge which displaces it. 
I see clearly that when this lies in the modest bud, without a 
full, inward impulse, its proper fruit will never bloom into 
light, least of all when thievish selfishness presses before the 
time, merely to place itself on high, where others may gaze 
upwards to its shimmering phantoms. Just so the Titans, 
with great tumult, piled up their stair to the castle of the 
gods ; just so cast down with contempt the quiet simplicity of 
Olympus. One thing feel I from thee, that nature must rear 
the ideals of the human soul under warm fostering covers, as 
-he does plants, else will men not grow green and ripen in 
the sun beams. 

Thy adventures, thy remarks, all give me pleasure ; take 
heed that I lose none of them ; if it will not hurt thy health, 
write every evening ; thus prays the demon who has just 
whispered to me, and would fain preserve everything of 
thine. 

What shall I do with thy canary-bird ? I think I may 
take him with me ; it will not be much trouble, and to none 
can I trust him no more than thyself. Apropos, 1 might be 
jealous of the princess, with whom thou must always walk 
hand in hand. Wouldst thou ever once permit me to lead 
4 



50 



GUNDERODE. 



thee by the hand, when we were walking ? didst thou not al- 
ways skim about, like a wild humble-bee, through all the 
thickets, and leave me to scramble after by myself? and this 
princess has such power to tame thee as to lead thee by the 
hand in the open country. Thy bird I have tamed, so that 
he takes crumbs from my mouth, just from love. I know not 
but he is more accessible to me than to his owner; just as 
thou art to the princess. I was anxious about him ; for once, 
as I went out at the garden-gate, he flew after me into the 
garden ; but, after fluttering about awhile among the trees, 
he alighted on my head and let me carry him in quietly ; I 
was truly rejoiced, for I knew not how I should bear it, if 
thou didst not find him here at thy return. There were 
eleven figs on thy tree ; I gathered in the harvest on Mon- 
day ; three I ate from the tree ; three, afterwards, in company 
with a certain person who met me at the gate ; he went with 
me into the house, and seemed to rejoice that the tree that 
came from him bears such sweet fruit ; now lie yet five figs, 
that were a little hard, beneath the glass cover of the Apollo, 
which I have set in the sun ; they are ripening ; these too 
will I banquet on, before I go away, in company, but not in 
the company of any one who devours them whole, as an in- 
significant fruit without peculiar flavor, but with a certain per- 
son who will ascribe the sweetness of the fruit to thy foster- 
ing care, and enjoy it with gratitude. Caroline. 

One thing I must tell thee about thy balcony ; the spiders 
have woven a great piece of Brabant lace, from one end to 
the other ; from the silver-fir over the orange-tree, over the 
bean-vine arbor, into which no one can enter without break- 
ing up this work of art, then over the pomegranate-tree to 
the fig-tree ; I spared it when I made harvest of the fruit. 
Thy brother Dominicus came down and watered them all, 
from his little watering-pot, the noonday sun shone very 
clear. The crystal drops glittered sweetly in the net ; thy 
brother thought if the web went a little farther, it might be 
like the net of an aviary to keep butterflies, which he has 
vainly tried to tame, as caterpillars, for so soon as they flew 
out of the chrysalid, they forgot all the care and nourishment 
he had given them, when they were caterpillars. I was much 
amused by his earnest purpose, through the caterpillar and 
chrysalid, to work on the soul of the butterfly. Truly I 



GT7XD ERODE. 



51 



think the enormous spiders would devour all, whether grate- 
ful or ungrateful, that should be kept in this aviary. He 
wished me to tell thee that the hop-vines have grown over 
the roof into the open window. Thou nearest with pleasure 
of thy little Garden of Paradise, in which all is so fair, and 
there is no tree from which one must not eat the apples. 

TO GENDER ODE. 

With the one hand I reached my letter to the carrier, with 
the other received thine ; we were just returning from our sun- 
rise. I saw the carrier coming through the valley, I wanted 
to meet him, I ran, the others knew not wherefore, they called 
after me, I galloped down the hill, catching hold of the 
boughs to swing myself along, these rained down cool dew on 
my ardent course, then darted I straight downward into the 
valley, and could, not stop myself, the good carrier placed 
himself in the way and caught me ; upon the hill stood star- 
ing the whole company, one head above the other, Mr. Haise 
in the midst, peeping through his spy-glass ; I lay down in 
the grass to get my breath. 

Potz tausend, how many hammers were beating in my 
head, — those were the goldsmiths, and the great hammer in my 
breast, that was the blacksmith ; they all came down ; finding 
me lying in the high grass they thought I had fainted, or some 
such thing. Voigt cried, " God forbid, such fancies has she 
not ; " then I peeped out of the grass, laughing at them, then 
they all shrieked that I might have broken my neck, or at 
least an arm or a leg, or ran danger of an apoplexy ; impru- 
dent, wild, mad, senseless, shrieked they. What a set of 
croakers ; I would hear no more, but set off again on a gal- 
lop. The bath-keeper had just opened the baths ; I called 
out to him, don't tell where I am, and jumped into the water, 
in my shoes and stockings and all my clothes ; in the water 
I threw aside my clothes, and forgot that I had put thy letter 
in my bosom till I saw it swimming on the water, then I 
unfolded and laid it on the rope that goes through the middle 
of the arch of the bath to draw up the valve when the room 
is too hot, it fluttered above me in the current of air, I swam 
to and fro after it, spelling it out, here a part and there a part, 
as the wind turned the leaf; this delighted me, no less when 
I came out of the bath to read it through ; then began I to 
sing : " O thou the highest of Gods, powerfully ruling over 



52 



GUNDERODE. 



Olympus, let, in the courses of the plain, favoring breezes 
blow through the garlands that shade my temples/' Then 
perceived they all at once where I was, for all were in the 
bath and my voice sounded loud through the vault, and I 
heard them call, " La voila ! " and then, " yet another mad 
freak to jump into the bath when so heated." If I did not 
wish to hear the croaking from every side I must needs sing 
again. " Let, Jupiter, the swift-footed days glide on which 
shall greet me crowned with victory at evening with the 
sweet-sounding call of immortality." Now came Lisette am- 
bassador from the others ; she was astounded when she saw 
my clothes lying under the water, and my shoes on the lowest 
step, two bowls full of water ; I saw her astonishment, she 
thought I was mad, she silently reached me a little billet, in 
which was written, " Tamer of foals, offer up a fat steer to 
Pallas Athene, controller of horses, and throw quickly the 
golden-worked bridle over the maidenly neck." I asked who 
gave her the note, she said the bath-keeper ; I asked the bath- 
keeper, he said his son Lipps ; I asked Lipps, he said " a 
gentleman I saw beside the fountain in slippers, with a ci- 
gar in his mouth." What had he on ? — how did he look ? 
" White mantle, gray velvet cap." I thought it best to keep 
silence to every one about the billet, which I put in my col- 
lection of natural curiosities, among which is a gold-shining 
horn of a stag beetle that is hollow and so elegant it would 
be fit for a drinking-horn to an elf, if any elf were a huntsman, 
therefore have I kept it, in case I should meet such an one ; 
further, many transparent stones, that would deserve the 
name of jewels, if only the sun could shine through a little 
more perfectly, and a chrysalis out of which I myself saw the 
butterfly creep ; it opened to let the butterfly out and then 
shut to again ; it has within things like little springs, the butter- 
fly moves these when he is ready and the chrysalis opens ; out- 
side it is hard so that nothing can injure it. I have kept this 
expressly for thee that we may look at it and think on im- 
mortality together. When I see a thing in nature for which 
such care has been taken that it be not disturbed till it is ripe, 
I am filled with awe ; surely nothing is so sad as to disturb 
or destroy such a thing, for tender as she is, it must pierce 
her through the heart ; I may not sin against her, may not 
press forward and as a strong intellect hurry things before 
her time, she will not have it so, Nature, she says I shall run 



GUN DE RODE. 



5:5 



and jump and shall not have reflection, and in thy letter 
stands written the same which rejoices me. Uninformed, 
simple, that am I truly, and yet thou art so silly as to prefer 
me to wise people. Thou must yield it to them that there is 
nothing to be done with me. Clemens is partly in fault for 
this, who loves me so that he has taken pleasure in every- 
thing I have done, and found all my thoughtless prattle so 
wondrous fine. But thou wilt go with me to the hill, there 
we two shall be alone with the demon and ask after none 
other. I take such pleasure in this plan, often my heart beats, 
and when I think why. it is because of the eight days when 
we can sleep together in one room, and the harvest wind 
blows through the plane-trees, shaking off the leaves, and we 
wake up when we have a thought, and then go to sleep again. 
I could tell thee much from here, I have a crowd of thoughts 
which T cannot write ; many times I spring up as if I must go 
to thee, and tell something just newly thought out. But I have 
not yet told what happened to-day. About twelve Tonie and 
I went down to take leave of the princess. Tonie had ar- 
ranged on the saloon table all sorts of fair fruit, with flowers 
between, the princess took them very kindly and spoke with 
such cordial sweetness to Tonie. that I for the first time be- 
lieved the words, which I never do from others when they 
speak so courtly. Thou askst why thou shouldst not be 
jealous of the princess. Ei — why art thou not ? That i- 
just what pains me, thai, if I should tell thee she would take 
me away and keep me always with her, thou wouldst coldly 
reply; dear Bettine. it grieves me that our intercourse will 
thereby be interrupted, but I pray, let not that prevent thee. 
And yet I would not do it, even when I feel that thou couldst 
answer me so coldly and easily wear away the pain of sepa- 
ration, although the princess is to me dearer than any person 
I have seen ; for, except grandmamma and thee, I have 
never seen woman who appeared noble to me. Inly am I 
related to thee, that know I, and the demon hold- me firmly 
bound to thee; where could I ever again feel so confidential ? 
Could I do my will with the princess, could I lie on the floor 
in the moonlight, and follow it about and invent storie- as we 
did in the winter, and when I wanted to braid thy hair, thou 
wouldst let me braid and unbraid it, and thou wouldst com- 
pose Ossianic songs while I combed it — 



54 



GUND ERODE. 



Deine Locken gleich den Raben duster, 
Deine Stimme wie des Schilfs Gefluster, 
Wenn der Mittagswind sich leise wiegt. 

(Thy locks dark as the raven's plumage, 
Thy voice like the whisper of the sedges 
When the noontide breeze blows gently.) 

Dost thou remember how I sung it softly after thee, what 
thou didst so solemnly utter, and dost thou know my heart 
was quite full of tears more than once, but secretly I strove 
with myself to be strong and overcome the pain. I did not 
wish to show how deeply I was penetrated ; 

Denn mein Schwert umgiebt wie Blitzes Fliigel 
Dich du liebliche, du schones Licht. 

(For my sword encompasses like wings of the lightning thee, thou love- 
ly, thou fair light. ) 

How oft have I sung that to myself and was a hero !— 

Collas Tochter sank zum Schlafe nieder; 
! wann griissest du den Morgen wiederV 
Schongelockte, wirst du lange ruhn ? 

Ach ! die Sonne tritt nicht an dein Bette, 
Spricht, erwach aus deiner Ruhestatte, 

Collas schone Tochter steig herauf ! 
Junges Gran entkeimet schon dem Hiigel, 

Friihlingslufte fliegen driiber her. 
Sonne birg in Wolken deinen Schimmer! 
Denn sie schlaft, der Frauen Erste ! nimmer 

Kehret sie in ihrer Schonheit mehr. 

(Colla's daughter sank down to slumber — 
when wilt thou again greet the morning? 
Thou of the beautiful locks wilt thou slumber long? 

Ah ! the sun comes not to thy bed 

Saying awake from thy repose, 

Fair daughter of Colla rise up ! 

The young green sprouts already on the hills, 

The breezes of spring blow over them. 

Sun, hide thy beams in clouds! 
For she sleeps, the first of women! — never 

Returns she in her beauty more.) 

That have I so often sung, also on the rock day before 
yesterday, and I know such beautiful melodies for it, all which 
go to my heart, and when we are together in autumn, I will 
sing them to thee in the dusk, before the lights are brought 



, GUND ERODE. 55 

in ; how canst thou then think I might prefer the princess ? 
But thou dost not think it, but only givst thyself the air of it, 
else it would be too sad for me that thou shouldst not be 
troubled by it. I can think of thee alone as Colla's daugh- 
ter — for she sleeps, the first of women ! — so have I many 
times sung of thee and wept, for I cannot sing without my 
heart being so deeply moved, evenings when I am alone, 
that I often hide my head in the pillows to stifle my sadness 
because it is too heavy for me. But why should I, here so 
far from thee, write to thee of my bitter hours, that can only 
grieve thee, and thou art sad already. But be not troubled 
about me for all this passes as quick as the hailstones that 
fell here ; let me rather tell thee more of the princess ; thou 
knowest I have trust in thy love and can neither think thou 
art indifferent to me, nor doubtful of me. The princess asked 
me yesterday morning to sing her a song to my guitar, which 
she had sometimes heard from my window ; the request 
frightened me, for the duke stood by, and drew his mouth to- 
gether so curiously, and said he too had heard my voice and 
it was very fine ; I would gladly have excused myself, but I 
felt it would be unsuitable. I brought my guitar and, on the 
way, constrained my fear of the duke. I was not afraid of 
the princess, for already many times have I improvised mel- 
odies in the shrubbery before her window, because a secret 
inclination to her led me to invent right tender melodies. I 
was only afraid of the duke, because I thought he might have 
heard me sing that morning in the bath, and might begin 
upon that. I thought too of the billet. But suddenly I had 
a thought that helped me, I took thy Darthula-poein * from 
my pocket-book, and sung what I have written about to thee 
above to an extempore melody ; at first it was a little stiff, 
but soon went on right, so that many times I myself was sur- 
prised and deeply moved, as melody so much more power- 
fully expresses and first teaches the heart to feel it ; I re- 
peated it — then was it so fair, ah ! if I only could once sing 
it so before thee ; the duke desired I would sing on ; I was 
no more timid, but sung at once : 

Lass zehn tausend Schwerter sich emporen, 
Usnoth sollt von meiner Flucht nicht ooren; 
Ardan! sag ihm riihmlich war mein Fall. 
Winde! waruni brausen eure FlugelV 

* Given in Appendix to the original. 



56 



GTJNDERODE. 



Wogen! warura rauscht ihr so dahin? 
Wellen! Stiirme! denkt ihr mich zu halten? 
Nein ihr konnts nicht, stiirmische Gewalten! 
Meine Seele lasst raich nicht entfliehn. 
Wenn des Herbstes Schatten wieder kehren, 
Madchen, und du bist in Sicherheit, 
Dann versammle urn dich Ethas Schonen, 
Lass fur Nathos deine Harfe tonen, 
Meinem Ruhme sei dein Lied geweiht 

(Let ten thousand swords arise against me, 
Usnoth shall not hear of ray flight; 
Ardan ! say to him that my fall was glorious. 
Winds ! why rush your wings V 
Waves ! why do you roar so loudly ? 
Waves! Storms! think ye to detain me? 
No ! you cannot do it, stormy Powers ! 
My soul will not let me fly. 
When the shadows of autumn return, 
Maiden, and thou art in safety, 
Then assemble round thee Etna's fair ones, 
Let thy harp resound for Nathos, 
To my fame be consecrated thy song. ) 

This second time I sung still better, with deeper voice, and 
deeper feeling ; these are the two passages which I know by 
heart out of thy song, because thou hast made them in my 
presence, in the twilight, and said to me, keep them in thy 
mind till they bring the lights, I will meanwhile compose 
more ; and I repeated always four verses till four more were 
ready, which thou hast, in like manner, confided to my mem- 
ory, and then set sail again on the ocean. G-underode, how 
fair was that ? How can I ever live a fairer life than with 
thee ? I have given the duke the poem and told him it was 
thine, and also thy Don Juan* have I presented to him ; he 
urged me much, and I thought thou wouldst give them to me 
again, I wanted him to have it, because I saw he took such 
pleasure in it ; thou wilt give it me again. The princess 
asked me to copy for her the melody that belongs to the song; 
I said gladly, but where is it gone ? I know it no more — 
she then kissed me affectionately on both cheeks, and said to 
Tonie, with her permission she would take the nosegay from 
among the ananas, and plant it in her own hot-house as a 
memorial. That, indeed, was friendly, and I will confess to 
thee I was deeply pained when she went away, everything 
seemed so forlorn that I must weep whether I would or no ; 



* Given in Appendix to the original. 



GUXDERODE. 



57 



indeed I did not restrain myself because I thought on thee, 
and wished to be even with thee for thy infidelities. We went 
with her to the carriage and she bid me come to her when- 
ever I found opportunity; I kissed her hand, and stepped 
back, for the duke was still talking to her. His carriage, too, 
was at the door ; he laid his hand upon my head and said, 
" Farewell till we meet again," — then smiled on me, so that 
I thought, ah Heavens, it was he who gave the billet to 
Lipps. He got into the carriage, dressed in the liver-colored 
frock-coat, and I saw something on the back-seat like a white 
mantle, lined with light blue, yet it looked not pure white, 
but rather grayish ; yet, it seems to me, I saw the gray cap 
too. Yes ! I am sure I saw it, but was not willing to con- 
fess it, because I was ashamed ; for a while 1 could not com- 
fort myself, and even now I blush when I think about it. 
However I think again, princes have short memories, he will 
soon forget it. Ah ! might he very soon forget it ! Good 
night. To-morrow I will tell thee yet more about to-day, I 
have as yet told nothing of our sunrise excursion, how we 
saw nothing, for the sun rose behind us — all looking over 
the distant hills, thinking it would come out there, while it 
was quietly climbing the rock-wall at our backs, and Mr. 
Haise, armed with his spy-glass, and Voigt, whispering in 
my ear" Just observe what will take place ; they will all be 
wondering soon." None paid attention to what he said. It 
grew brighter and brighter, till suddenly we perceived the 
sun behind us, quite moderate and reasonable, without ex- 
travagance, for all the world as we might have seen him 
while breakfasting on the terrace ; then came the strife : 
each pretending he had really known better ; each de- 
claring he had been misled by the others ; truly it was a 
droll quarrel, and there was Mr. Haise with his spy-glass 
with which he had expected to detect the sun first of all. But 
Voigt was the most abused after all ; they declared he had 
tried to turn them all the wrong way, and pretended the east 
lay on that side ; but he said no ! he had not misled them, 
though he had known how it was, and therefore said they 
would wonder soon ; but he knew that he was in such bad 
credit with them that if he had told them they would not 
have believed him. 



5* 



GUND ERODE. 



SATURDAY. 

The canary-bird I give thee ; it is best for thee to keep 
him, since he loves thee best; since he is dear to me, shali I 
mar his limited joys ? But I am no canary-bird, and thou 
canst not give me away. I would give thee all, but thou 
must not give me away. Is not my balcony fair? When 
we were children, Herr Schwab used there to tell us stories 
from the Bible, before we went to bed ; there saw I the moon 
for the first time. How wonderful was it ! and then the 
lights from the windows hard by painted the shadows of the 
shrubs upon the ground ; I loved to sit there alone on the 
ground and see the shadows move round about me. I was 
fearful, as a child, but most by day, when I was alone, and in 
the chamber, where all looked so vacant ; there was some- 
thing confidential in night which allured me ; and before 
I ever heard of spirits, it seemed as if there was something 
living near me in whose protection I trusted ; so was it with 
me on the balcony when a child three or four years old, when 
all the bells were tolling for the emperor's death ; and, as it 
always grew more nightly and cool, and nobody with me, it 
seemed as if the air was full of bell-chimes which surrounded 
me, then came a gloom over my little heart, and then again 
sudden composure, (I feel it yet,) as if my guardian angel 
had taken me in his arms ; and now must I say, what a great 
mystery is life, so closely embracing the soul as the chrys- 
alis the butterfly ! no light shines through the coffin ; but 
the warmth of the sun penetrates to the soul within so that 
it grows and grows even amid heavy penalties, amid tears. 
Ah pardon that I am again sad, but the balcony ! There 
have I had such moments of longing, which pierced through 
my heart like a sword, I knew not what it was, and know not 
yet. Just in the fair blossom time was it to me always thus 
sad even at bright noon, when the bees were skimming about. 
Ah well ! I will rather think of something else. Thou art 
truly good to let so many things glimmer out, sub rosa, to 
secretly delight me. What will become of me, if ever I 
pass out of the light which beams on me from thy living eye, 
for thou seemest to me an ever living look, and as if on that 
my life hung. But neither of this would I speak. Of the 
donkey- party yesterday to Rauenthal ; it became a water- 
party in the end; there came up a prodigious shower while 



GUXDERODE. 



59 



we were yet half a league from home. The water running 
from the hills into the valleys made regular lakes which the 
wind curled into ripples. And as the donkeys were paddling 
through the water with us, came a great thunder-clap ; most 
of the party screamed, the donkeys did not scream, but all 
at once threw us into the puddle ; no one could hold on, the 
Englishman tried with his long legs, but his donkey reared 
and threw him ; then galloped all the donkeys away, and 
were out of sight in a twinkling, the drivers after them, and 
we screaming after these to send us lanterns. The whole 
squadron then held council in the puddle ; after recovering 
their senses, they set themselves in motion, complete silence 
succeeded the confused cries, the way was too difficult for 
any one to have a thought except how he should draw his 
foot out of the morass without parting with the shoe ; this, 
indeed, was impossible, most of the shoes were left sticking ; 
the lanterns came to meet us, the now soothed donkeys were 
again brought out. so we entered the village riding, indeed, 
but in what a condition ! All the straw hats were left in the 
mud, and almost all the shoes ; the ladies' dresses were so 
wet, as if they were to sit models for statues ; the gentle- 
men's no less so ; all went straight to the bath and came 
forth again new-born and newly radiant ; the scene closed 
with a social tea-drinking in slippers, dressing-gowns, and 
powder-mantles; we talked over our miseries, and nearly 
died of laughter over them. Mr. Haise, now the natural 
color of his hair was brought to light, was not to be recog- 
nized, but we all wondered at his beauty ; his auburn hair 
became him so much better than the powder in which he 
usually hides it, that all cried, he really might be interesting, 
which, before, had been deemed impossible. Who was bet- 
ter pleased than he, who solemnly abjured powder, and, with 
celestial self-complacency, walked about among the women 
to be admired. I and Lisette employed ourselves till mid- 
night, renewing the straw hats ; I turned them all up on one 
side with a cockade ; when we are in the sun, we put the 
shovel side foremost ; when in the shade, turn them round. 
This change met with general applause, and, Voigt says, has 
a picturesque effect. This morning came the donkey drivers 
in procession carrying the lost shoes upon their stick- ! They 
expected drink-money, and it was paid, though the shoes had 
better been left where they were buried; many were vexed 



60 



GUNDERODE. 



that the disgraced shoes should be exhibited so freely to the 
public gaze. This is the history of yesterday. Voigt had 
long desired to draw the whole company on donkeys in his 
sketch-book — this morning was a beautiful clear sky and 
cool after the rain ; we made ourselves as picturesque as we 
could, let ribbons flutter, veils blow ; the gentlemen stuck 
nosegays in their hats, put themselves into negligent atti- 
tudes, balanced with their legs, so went we slowly forward. 
Yoigt had gone before with his color-box, had prepared his 
palette, and was seated on a tent-stool before the height down 
which we came, observing the procession through a spy- 
glass ; all at once he called out, " Halt " — I was in front, 
with a green silken banner which I had made ; this I rested 
on one side, and held solemnly still ; my guitar, also, hung 
at my saddle. Voigt painted zealously on a piece of oil- 
cloth which was nailed on a board. This lasted a good 
while ; the donkeys hung down their ears and went to sleep ; 
the sun burned; the flies bit; the veils and ribbons hung 
down slack ; all thought they could bear it no longer ; but 
I wished extremely the good Yoigt should have the satis- 
faction of finishing his sketch ; I took my guitar and began 
to play Kosciusko; Erothwith accompanied me on the flageo- 
let ; the donkey boys joined in with their jews-harps ; many 
voices added bass and treble ; some whistled ; Haise, near 
me, gave out a tone with which he imitated a kettle-drum, 
beaten with a rod and a cudgel, pfltsch, pfitsch, bum, bum. 
The donkeys awoke and pricked up their ears, the air 
stirred afresh the fluttering ribbons ; all were inspired, and 
Voigt painted faster than a windmill is blown in a storm ; 
the donkey boys, also, had put themselves into negligent 
attitudes ; soon matters were so advanced that we could 
turn about ; Voigt, too, mounted his donkey, and we rode 
home satisfied and singing. The sketch is excellent ; he will 
finish it at Frankfort ; I wish thou hadst been here. Rid- 
ing home I saw, from afar, the birch-tree, blowing in the 
wind so gently, it seemed as if I saw thy picture in a vision* 
I thought perhaps I would try to visit thee here ; when one 
is alone, it is much easier to climb ; in the afternoon I went, 
while all were taking their siesta, and saw what letters the 
duke had cut in the tree, Z D F * and his name beneath ; 
I know what it means, just what he wrote upon thy manu- 
script of Immortalita. Voigt told me his book was very 
* To the Friend. 



GU XDEKODE. 



61 



witty, and has related many fair and also singular things of 
him. The book we must read together in the winter. This 
afternoon all were assembled at tea on the terrace. The de- 
sire for distant excursions is clamped ; we played shuttle- 
cock, and blew ;«oap-bubbles : they flew between the trees, 
now here, now there, also one on Haise's nose, I trow. 

SUNDAY. 

This morning we were all assembled for the last breakfast, 
for to-morrow go all away ; the whole forenoon was spent in 
tete-a-tete walks of those most intimate. I sauntered with 
Voigt to a green place and read to him from thy letters. I 
read the Manes, knitting to it various thoughts which I could 
not clearly express ; I cannot speak to any other as to thee ; 
I feel not the desire and glow to express myself unless with 
thee ; then, whatever I say. or however it coines out, I per- 
ceive that somewhat stirs within me as if my soul were grow- 
ing, and, if I myself do not understand it, I win assurance 
from thy wise calm eyes, that look on me waiting as if they 
understood me and knew what must come yet. In this way 
dost thou charm thoughts out of me, of whose possession I 
was not before aware, and that amaze myself; other people 
have no patience with me ; even Yoigt has not, but says. - 1 
know what you would say," and says something I did not 
wish to say. But when I do like thee, and listen to him, 
then hear I always something wise and good. To-day he 
said. %> Reason is by philosophers danced about and adored 
as a god, or rather as an idol, which may be imagined into 
any shape ihey desire. Things which ought and should be 
sought by the way of human experience and feeling, they 
put into propositions, which, not resting on a felt reality, only 
avail and work as arbitrary fancies. Philosophy must first 
be seized as feeling, else is it empty straw which men are 
thrashing. We might say philosophy must first be converted 
into poetry, but for that we might long be kept wailing, out 
of dry tarry wood will no green grove grow ; you may plant 
stick after stick and pray down the sweetest showers of 
?pring, yet all will remain dry. Yet the true philosophy 
comes forth from poesy itself, as the youngest and fairest 
daughter of the spiritual church." This last said he to Mr. 
Haise. who is a well-studied philosopher, and was so exeited 
because Yoigt called poesy the religion of the soul, that he 



02 



GUND ERODE. 



sprang with both feet into the air, and afterwards said to me 
alone, a I cannot trust Voigt far ; his wisdom is so unsound, 
and might easily misguide a youthful heart." All the rest 
was pleasant ; we took our coffee in the afternoon on the 
rock of the Muses, and made a gay fire in the wood and 
danced round it in a ring until the last flame went out; we 
were all as delighted as children, and it seemed to me as if 
there was not one false or concealed thought left in any 
mind. Indeed a free mind is the highest thing in man. 
" Never to desert one period of human existence, so long as 
it flows pure, for the sake of trying another, never any such 
to miss, ever to remain a child, as child to be already man, 
and a slave to the good ; reverently to adore God, and yet 
toy and play with him in his works, which themselves are a 
play of his wisdom, of his love." This was the way Voigt 
showed to Mr. Haise, as we were going home, and the 
Englishman was satisfied and offered him his hand. Good- 
night. 

MONDAY. 

Yesterday I might have written to thee, for all had gone 
away, bat I was weary. Tonie sleeps still ; we were up very 
late ; I went out on the terrace to take leave, because they 
all were to go away before daybreak ; only Voigt staid till 
noon, because he was going to Mentz. He went with me 
into the little chapel to hear mass ; then was a second time 
the sermon nearly at an end ; the preacher was our Francis- 
can. " Why has Jesus, when nailed on the cross, at the 
same time a heavenly glory round his head, but to forbid 
compassion to those present, prophesying the most holy, glo- 
rious raptures from the conflict of man with sorrow ? Why 
in each of his words, his deeds, lies the earthly with the 
eternal in such close connection ? He exchanged not his 
woes for joys, though he might so easily have done so, — 
also, thou, O man, receive gladly thy destiny when it brings 
thee sorrow, for thy destiny is not mournful, however much 
human misfortune it may bring thee, but, if thou dost disdain 
it, that is indeed misfortune, and so close I, as I began, by 
saying, the destiny of each man must be treasured as the 
most precious jewel, not carelessly thrown away, but cher- 
ished with highest reverence, learning to subject one's self to 
it." Voigt lamented that he had not heard the whole sermon, 



GUXDERODE. 



63 



thinking, as so much was compressed into a few words, the 
unfolding of the whole must have been very rich in thought. 
But I was glad we came so late, for to me seemed the sub- 
ject very gloomy ; to think of woes beforehand and prepare 
the thoughts for them suits not me. In the evening were we 
quite alone, Tonie and I ; all others are gone ; I wanted to 
go to walk, and sent for Lelaps, the sacristan's dog, who 
knows me. because I have already often taken him with me. 
He came with a lighted lantern round his neck, as he is wont 
to accompany his master in foggy weather ; this pleased me 
well. I took the good stick, of Spanish reeds bound togeth- 
er, that Savigny gave me, and went out with Lelaps be- 
tween the clefts in which the mist wavered hither and thither, 
so that the little light vanished frequently from my sight, but 
as soon as I called he came running through the thick fog, 
then was the light again visible ; what play was this for me ! 
For the dog and me alone, with the mists fluttering about 
like ghosts climbing up and scrambling down into the valley, 
it was truly no easy matter to find our way over the chasms 
and rock-walls ; when we got a free look out into the valley, 
I could not persuade myself they were not ghosts, and I 
believe it yet, and was inly right joyous that I had come to 
see them, and that the dog and I were suffered to remain ; 
thou dost not know how pleasant the fog is, how softly it 
clings to you ; my face was quite polished with it, as I came 
happily home again. How glad I am to be so insignificant ; 
I need not fork up discreet thoughts when I write to thee, 
but just narrate how things are; once I thought I must not 
write unless I could give importance to the letter by a bit of 
moral, or some discreet thought ; now I think not to chisel 
out nor glue together my thoughts ; let others do that ; if I 
must write so. I cannot think. Ah, to be understood and 
felt by the simplest, the most unlearned is something worth, 
and then not to weary the only one who understands me, who 
i- wise for me, — that depends on thee. 

We went out upon the Rhine and returned next day late 
at evening, so is to-day Thursday ; it was fair at Rudesheim : 
Tonie stopped there to speak to the priest, who is to come to 
our house ; I looked out from a great black arch on the mead- 
ows lying in evening light; the butterflies seemed flying 
above me, for there on the top of the castle grow very many 
wild flowers, all carried up there by the wind ; you might 



64 



GUNDERODE. 



suppose the flying flower-seeds had souls, and refused to be 
carried farther, but all chose to bloom there ; so many blue- 
bells, and little white pinks and balsam-flowers, I think the 
whole wall is blossomed over, flower on flower. Beneath, 
amid the ruins, dwells a beggar with his wife and two chil- 
dren ; they have a goat which they carry up there, and who 
grazes on the flowery carpet with the utmost nonchalance. 

I was a whole hour alone there, seeing the sails pass on 
the Rhine. I felt a deep longing to be with thee again ; for, 
beautiful as it is here, it is sad without echo in the living 
breast. Man is nothing but the desire to feel himself in an- 
other. Before I saw thee I knew nothing ; I had often read 
and heard of friends, yet never knew what a life it would be ; 
for what thought I then of men ? Absolutely nothing. I took 
the watchdog out, that I might have society ; but when I had 
been awhile with thee, and had heard so many things from 
thee, then I looked on each face as an enigma, and might well 
have divined many things, or perhaps have divined them, for 
I am really sharp-minded. Truly, man does express his 
being, if the looker-on knows how to put things together, — 
and neither dissipates his thoughts, nor adds anything from 
his own fancy ; but one is always blind when he seeks to 
please others, or seem somewhat before them. That have I 
remarked in myself. If one loves another, it is better to 
compose one's self, to understand the one beloved. If we 
wholly forget ourselves and look at him, I believe it is possi- 
ble to divine the whole hidden man from his outward being. 
I have recognized this, for of other men I have not under- 
stood what they were to me. The most I cannot consider 
long, because I observe nothing which pleases me, or har- 
monizes with me ; but with thee have I felt like a music, so at 
home was I at once. I was like a child which, still unborn, 
is removed from his father-land, sees the light in another, 
and must by some foreign bird be w r afted back over a sea. 
He finds all new, yet nearest related, and most domestic. So 
was it always with me when I entered thy apartment. So 
was it on the old castle-ruins yesterday ; the smiling meadows, 
and the merry maidens singing there, the evening light, the 
passing sails and the butterflies, all was nothing to me, I 
longed only for thee ! for thy little room, for the winter ; for 
the snow without, and the early twilight, and the blazing fire ; 
this sunshine and blooming and shouting tears my heart. I 



GUXDERODE. 



65 



was delighted when Tonie came up with the carriage, I 
looked down, and there was the beggar with his two pretty 
children, laughing and rolling over one another, holding each 
other close embraced. I said, what are your names ? and 
they answered, Roschen and Bienchen ; Roschen is fair, with 
round, red cheeks. And Bienchen is a brunette, with black, 
glancing eyes. They were truly one in two. Home at mid- 
night ; a most sweet sleep by the rushing of the Spring- 
fountains. 

MONDAY. 

I have often re-read thy last letter, I am surprised when I 
compare it with others which I have received here at the 
same time, — then must I think that there are destinies in 
Spirit ; as beings can be so remote from one another, and so 
different, that they may meet every day, yet one will never 
conceive of the other what he thinks and dreams, and what he 
feels in thinking and dreaming. Thy whole being with oth- 
ers is dreamy ; I well know why ; wert thou awake, thou 
couldst not live among them and be so indulgent ; hadst thou 
been quite awake r they would certainly have driven thee 
away ; the grimaces that they make would certainly have 
put thee to flight. I saw the same in a dream myself when 
I was two years old ; and sometimes the dream comes over 
me again so that it seems that men are mere frightful larvae 
by whom I am surrounded and who will take from me my 
senses ; even as in the dream I shut my eyes, that I may not 
see and perish with anguish. So thou from thy magnanim- 
ity dost shut thy eyes in life ; thou wouldst not see how it is 
appointed with men ; thou wouldst not have an aversion arise 
against these who are not thy brothers, for the absurd is 
neither sister, nor brother. But thou wilt be their sister, so 
standest thou among them with dreaming head, smiling in thy 
sleep, for thou dreamest them all away as a flickering grotesque 
masquerade dance. This read I again to-day in thy letter; for 
it is now so still there, that one can think ; thou art good to me, 
for among all men thou boldest thyself most awake to me. 
As if, shouldst thou quite open thy eyes, thou wouldst venture 
really to look upon me. Oh I have often thought that I would 
never terrify thy look, — lest thou shouldst indulgently shut 
thine eyes to me also, and only peep sideways at me to avoid 
seeing all my faults and vices. 



66 



GUNDERODE. 



Thou sayest we will trifle together ; dost thou know how I 
interpret that ? I remember what thou lately wrotst to Cle- 
mens, — " ever new and living is the desire in me to express 
my life in a permanent form ; in a shape that may be worthy 
to advance towards the most excellent, to greet them and 
claim community with them. Yes, after this community 
have I constantly longed. This is the church, towards 
which my spirit constantly makes pilgrimages upon the 
earth." But now thou sayest, we will trifle, — because thou 
wouldst remain untouched ; because thou findest no commu- 
nity, and yet thou believest that there is somewhere a height 
where the air blows pure, and a longed-for shower rains 
down upon the soul, making it freer and stronger. But cer- 
tainly this is not in philosophy ; I do not quote this from Voigt ; 
my own feeling bears witness to me. Healthful breathing 
men cannot so narrow themselves. Imagine to thyself a phi- 
losopher, living quite alone on an island, where it should be 
beautiful as only spring can be, where all was blooming, free, 
and living, birds singing, and all the births of nature perfect- 
ly fair, but no creature there to whom the Philosopher could 
interpret anything. Dost thou believe that he would take such 
flights as those which I cannot constrain with thee? I be- 
lieve he would take a bite from a beautiful apple, rather than 
make dry wooden scaffoldings for his own edification from the 
high cedars of Lebanon. The Philosopher combines, and 
transposes, and considers, and writes the processes of thought, 
not to understand himself, that is not the object of this ex- 
pense, but to let others know how high he has climbed. He 
does not wish to impart his wisdom to his low-stationed compan- 
ions, but only the hocus-pocus of his superlatively excellent 
machine, the triangle which binds together all circles. But 
it is only the idle man, who has never realized his own being, 
that is taken by thisT Others deceive, misinterpreting nature ; 
they prepare this scaffold on which to climb, out of vanity, 
and at top becomes it arrogance, breathing down sulphureous 
fumes to the men below ; then men, in this blue vapor of 
fancy, suppose they are perceiving the high motives of being. 
I am not fearful lest this wisdom should escape me, for there 
is not a thing in all nature which cannot give forth the spark of 
immortality so soon as we really touch it ; do but fill the soul 
with all thou seest on this islet, rich with blessings ; thence 
will all wisdom flow through thee in electric currents ; indeed 



GUXDERODE. 



<>7 



I believe, if a man takes bis stand beneatb the blossoming 
tree of magnanimity, which bears all virtues on its top, the 
wisdom of God is nearer him than on the highest tower which 
man ever erected for himself. Man cannot get more than 
the apple, which grows for him on the tree ; if he climbs to 
the top, he plucks it himself, if he stands beneath the tree 
and waits, the apple falls and gives itself to him, but except 
from the tree can he produce no fruit ; — thou speakest of 
Titans who, with great noise, pile mountains one upon the 
other, casting down the tranquil heights of immortality; 
truly thou wert thinking of philosophers, when thou saidst, a 
thievish selfishness presses before the time, and deludes with 
glittering phantoms — ah, all selfishness is shameful thiev- 
ing ; he who is a miser of the spirit, vain of it, dividing it in- 
to strata, or burning into it particular signets, he is the selfish 
wretch ; and what else do philosophers, but contend about 
their theories, as to who has thought this or said that, — if 
thou hadst thought or said it, it were without thy interference 
true or better, truly it is a chimera form of thy vanity. Why 
so hoard up coins that belong to the pitiful earth-lite, not to 
the heavenly spheres ? I would like to know whether Christ 
troubled himself as to how his wisdom would be received by 
after-ages. If he did — he was not divine ! As yet men 
have only offered him idolatrous homage, because they have 
laid stress on acknowledging him outwardly, but not inwardly ; 
yet it would be no matter if he were quite forgotten out- 
wardly and never named, if only his love was growing up in 
the heart. Another thing will I say to thee ; when the in- 
tellect cuts out and puts on ever such fine clothes, and in 
them struts round the theatre, what is it other than a mere 
show, even as one declaims a heroic drama ; the actors grow 
not to real heroes thereby. Thou hast written to Clemens, 
ik Say not my being is one of reflection, or truly that I am 
mistrustful — mistrust is a harpy who throws herself greedily 
upon the divine banquet of inspiration, soiling it with impure 
experiences and vulgar prudence, which I, in relation with 
each worthy one, have disdained." These words have I 
often looked upon as a mirror of thy soul, and then have I 
always felt thanksgiving, that God laid in thee so great an 
instinct, lifting one off the hinges of vulgarity where all creaks 
and shuts, and if a thing does not originally suit, is made to 
adapt itself for life. Ah no ! thou art a spirit without door 



68 



GrTJNDERODE. 



or bolt ; and when I speak out to thee my longings for some- 
what great and true thou lookest not fearfully about thee, but 
answerest, — Now I hope we shall find that together. 

MONDAY. 

So earnestly have I written ; I know not myself how I 
came to do it. I understand not how it is. Thou far sur- 
passest me in pure contemplation, for thou art a Seer, while 
I regard only the shadows of those spirits, dancing in the air, 
that hover round thee. And what is all that before thee ; 
I feel that I am on a much lower step, from which I call to 
thee whether this or that be so ? I feel also that thou wouldst 
punish me by a light stroke of thy magical wand for linger- 
ing amid such after-thoughts. I know and do not know. To 
bathe in the dew, to gaze on the moon in the nightly hours, is 
fairer than to turn about and measure the shadows which we 
cast upon the lighted plain ; truly I was sad when I wrote 
yesterday, and from sadness rise for me always such fogs of 
hyper-prudence, Philisterei, — I am ashamed ; it is a bad 
sonata, whose theme one can quickly learn by heart, and 
seems dra wling and insipid when it is repeated ; that comes 
from being lonely here ; because one thinks somewhat better 
must be brought forward in talking with one's self. I marked 
it as writing the self-pleasing prattle, which fitted together so 
well, misled me, and now at once am I weary of it. How 
gracefully and playfully hast thou expressed all, and, with 
thy magic wand, hast thou drawn a circle in which to amuse 
thyself with me, and I have beaten about me with thorns 
and nettles and thistles ; ah, I feel a disgust to what I wrote 
yesterday. Why did I not rather describe to thee the won- 
drous evening, the singular night I had lived through with 
Tonie. Such a night passes not from us, it exists forever 
with its soft shadowy pictures, with its illuminated twilights, 
and transient zephyrs, and how they blew hither and thither 
the waves of slumber ; certainly when the world was born, 
then was it night, and then arose the summits of immortality, 
those still summits of which thou hast spoken, first upon the 
waters ; and then pressed the world after them and lies so 
now, and over it stream the speeches of yonder lonely one 
through the night-heaven. Truly I find myself not prepared, 
when in such a night all sleeps far and wide, and the spirit 
all-powerful sails on his wings through the air, — and all the 



GUND ERODE. 



G9 



philosophers, who wish to rouse up human nature, sleep 
soundly and feel it not. Might it not be that if any one was 
permitted each night to open his eyes, and see through the 
deep folded mantle which she spreads over all nature, while 
her secret spirits hovered round, breathed on him, on all 
living — might it not be that such an one would become a 
Seer of heavenly wisdom ! There is somewhat marvellous 
in the night ; one might think day had sometimes let itself 
be seized upon by evil, but night is wholly free from it ; we 
feel ourselves, in the soulless, silver night, drawn upwards, 
like the twining vines that push out their tendrils into the 
air, to take hold of the spirits as they fly by and drink in 
their breath. But why scramble I and run giddily thus as if 
I were ever on the edge of the wood, truly in the night was 
it so clear in my mind that I laughed aloud, and now skips it 
from hill to valley and touches the memory, — and all my 
thinking is but echo as if I had fallen into a cleft. In the 
afternoon we had wandered out for a long walk and did not 
know exactly what time it was ; it was later than we thought, 
and always the path kept leading to something that excited 
our curiosity, — sometimes a rushing brook between cliffs, 
sometimes sun-bright green and hills, and walls and woods 
with lofty crowns, then came flocks of birds flying over us 
that we wanted to gaze after, when suddenly we found we 
knew not where we were nor whither going, willingly we 
would have turned about, if we could have guessed in what 
direction home lay. We encouraged one another to take a 
broad path that ran obliquely through the wood, because 
fresh foot-tracks were there it would lead us to men ; still we 
held the wind, the decreasing light to be from passing clouds, 
but it was the evening wind blowing the leaves round about 
us ; we did not say it to one another, but remarked it soon, 
walked on and soon saw the sky shimmering red between the 
branches, soon this was overdrawn with dusky gold, and then 
came a blue: silent stars glittered, and the path led ever on 
into the wood, and the stars looked down from on high ; nei- 
ther of us ventured to interrupt the stillness, silent, only one 
step after the other rustling through the leaves. I said, let 
us sit down a moment, thou wilt see then that the way 
through the wood will become clear of itself ; " Ah," said 
Tonie softly, " what will be the end of this ? what will become 
of us ? " Instead of lamenting, I could only laugh aloud ; 



70 



GTJNDERODE. 



" For heaven's sake, don't laugh in that frightful way ; keep 
perfectly still ; there may be bad people near who will hear 
us." But I thought rather it would be most dangerous to 
whisper or wander silently, and persuaded Tonie to let me 
sing a song. What a sound that made ! — it made me so 
happy, and then the silent wood, — and then I again, — and 
then it again. Tonie had so seated herself in the path as not 
to lose sight of the direction we had been pursuing all this 
time, but I lay backwards and looked up, suddenly I per- 
ceived that, to the left, it was lighter in the wood, and the 
sky w 7 holly free ; I said, that way must we take, then are we 
immediately out of the wood. " O, I entreat thee do not 
leave the path, for if we stumble about here in the thickets, 
it is so dark we may fall into pits, let us keep to the path." But 
I had already set out, and stumbled really, picked myself up, 
and fell again, and climbed over stock and stone ; Tonie called 
out from time to time, I answered ; suddenly I found myself 
clear of the wood, on a height that sloped down into a wide 
plain which I could not measure, but saw something glitter- 
ing at a distance. I called out, Here stand I and see the 
Rhine ; thou must come out of the wood this way, for on the 
wood-path mayst thou wander hours long to no purpose. I 
then went back to meet her, both calling to mark the way, 
but I did not venture in far, for fear of losing myself again ; 
finally we reached one another the hand and then I drew her 
out behind me. It seems a silly little adventure, but it gave 
me such pleasure to find our way out of the dark w r ood. Then 
stood we looking all about us, — ■ whether is there a hamlet, 
or there ; is that a light ? We sat down, to wait a w r hile on 
the edge of the wood, no sound was heard, not a bird ; it was 
certainly very late, perhaps eleven o'clock, the lights were 
out on every side ; all was so grand about us, we took our re- 
pose quite tranquilly, then it grew lighter, the moon was ris- 
ing, then we knew it must be eleven — at last Tonie was 
quite sure she saw a town in the distance, she saw clearly the 
church-roof shining ; we dragged ourselves along, slid and 
scrambled down into the plain. Tonie kept in her eye the 
church-roof ; I was too short-sighted for that, but ran before 
to make a path, that can I do better. " To the left, then to the 
right," cried she, and so it went over mowing fields, finally to 
a ditch full of water over which we were luckily able to 
jump, then over hedges, then meadows, then gardens; the 



GUXDERODE. 



71 



moon was now fairly up, illumined a broad road which led 
to the town, but a great firm gate shut in this accursed town, 
which lay sunk in the moonshine still as death ; not a dog 
barked, nor a cat mewed. Then stood we with "our sticks in 
our hands, staring at the door ; soon this seemed to me too 
ludicrous, and I said, suppose I try to climb over ? for it was 
open at top ; but this was not possible, it was very high, 
of oaken planks, fitted into a pair of smooth thick posts at the 
corners. " But just see," says Tonie, " there is between the 
post and the wall a cleft, perhaps a hand's breadth ;" now, if I 
throw off my shawl, and hold my breadth, I can get through 
there ; quick all which hindered me was thrown on the 
ground, and I was through ; the first thing I did was to sit 
down by the gate, on the corner-stone, and laugh ; that 
sounded down the street, and found an echo, and sounded 
back again. " Ah, I pray thee, do not laugh ; thou wilt wake 
all the people, and who knows what they may do to us," 
prayed Tonie through the cleft, — I composed myself, exam- 
ined the gate, found it was shut with two great iron bolts, 
took a stone, and pounded back the bolts. " Make not alar- 
um, don't pound so loud." All her words helped not, I was 
full of zeal, the gate must yield, at once the leaves flew apart, 
and there stood she before me and made her entrance ; now 
wandered we silently through the streets, and looked at all 
the houses, we knocked on doors, on shutters, but no sound 
gave answer ; at last a little gable window opened, a man 
peeped out, holding a lighted pine-splinter, whose flame dis- 
covered a well-bearded chin, and other particulars which 
made us fancy him an unbaptized member of the human 
race, and this his voice did not belie. " We are guests of the 
Electress from Schlangenbad, who have lost their way and 
seek a guide." He intimated that the gate-keeper lived op- 
posite. We knocked, and after a while a hole in the ground 
opened, and a giant form rose up, dressed in brown fur, with 
a tree in his hand, — I will not call it a club, for that it was too 
large, — with loud pattering steps he drove us before him out of 
the gate, and ever on and on up the hill-path. Presently. 
Tonie whispered in my ear, " What if that strong man be- 
hind us should give us a blow with his club, I am greatly 
frightened ;" then we bid the man walk before us, so that we 
might see it if he wanted to do us any ill. So marched the 
Goliath before us away ; ah, how rustled the birches as we 



72 



GUNDERODE. 



passed and painted their shadows beneath our feet, how 
gushed the darkness out of the wood to meet the moonlight, 
and the little streams trickled down from the hills, and rolled 
on betwixt the willows, and we passed by many a sleeping 
hamlet, and then upon the heights, yet once again must I look 
round for that silver-streak of the Rhine in the moonlight, 
and the hills rose and sank in the distance. There was a stir 
in the air, a fluttering and whispering amid the branches, and 
childish dreams that made my heart quiver, and dark forms 
coming ever forth from the wood ; this kept my soul awake, 
and yet it seemed as if I slumbered, free from care, and only 
wandered on in my dreams, and the stars of heaven gradual- 
ly grew pale, and the lonely cottage in the valley were as 
yet unconscious of the day which began to break, then the 
quails sung in the fields to announce it, then saw we Schlan- 
genbad. Who more joyful than we, but I especially, I re- 
joiced in that splendid night. The shadows beside the road 
that silently bordered our lighted path, and the farewell of 
night, as she yet once again shook the tops of the trees, that is 
all dear to me ; it is a gift from the gods, like many other 
hours when it has seemed as if they would present me with 
sweet visionary feeling of the inly powers of rapture. This 
was what I wished to tell thee, which is much fairer than all 
thinking and judging, to approach the life of nature, and still 
and mute observe with her what she prepares, and how she 
consecrates and purifies in the solemn stillness of night. 

Offenbach, May, 1805. 
Care not thou for my health ; in the little garret am I quite 
good-humored and must needs laugh with my shadow on the 
wall. Three jumps up the stairs, then spread my wings and 
down behind the poplar-walk, where something white is flut- 
tering. There, where we buried Spitz last year, played the 
wind with a paper in the moonshine, but it flew over the gar- 
den-wall, as I tried to catch it. With the good Spitz I was 
not afraid in the night, as ever he barked the spirits out of 
the way. The Piano Hoffman is as before our neighbor ; 
this night as I lay in my bed he was chasing up and down 
his enharmonic gamuts ; I gave up sleeping, and joyfully re- 
signed my senses to chase with him — with the understanding 
to receive music, as the musical Philistines do — that cannot 
be — I must feel. When the senses are all soothed by the 



GUXDERODE. 



73 



music, I given up to it as if slumbering, then have I thoughts 
swift — like as stars often glide across the heavens. I trouble 
myself sometimes, that I cannot think what I will, and must 
let myself be bewildered by each new thing, as, at the fair, 
one runs from the camera obscura box to the puppet play, 
from the dancing bear to the gypsies at the riverside where 
the skiffs pour forth their load of queer people, and drunken 
musicians play a fitting symphony. Many things fly through 
my head, but when I would write, the air is empty of 
thoughts, most words are superfluous, I am fain to blot them 
out again, as here in the letter. But when there is music I 
am collected, the thoughts fly not about, but keep still, and 
look at the secret of things, which pleases me. The soul 
grows, the bud springs up, and sucks in moonlight. Awhile 
I lay in bed and listened, but when a storm came, I sprang up 
and placed myself at the window. Music brings all things 
to union, she thunders through the clear night her powerful 
stream, then dances she away and greets with each wave the 
flowers which are secretly blooming on the shore. When 
the clouds come driven by the wind-storm, then seem they 
enchanted by their breath, the rain rolls down pearls beneath 
their dancing step, hasting impelled by the thunder and 
lightning through the black night, rushing on sounding pin- 
ions ; this is all a hymn with music ; — nothing contradicts 
hoi* disturbs the still broodings of the mind. Thus have I 
lived through half the night, a life, than which time has 
not brought neither will bring a better, — how stand I in 
blossom, full of honey to the brim, all out of the inner self. 
With others I have no understanding; I am ashamed before 
them so to differ from them. Thou art good to me, and so is 
Clemens, but with him I cannot be entirely as I am ; he has 
his fears and cannot bear to have me pour myself out, some- 
times is it too fiery, sometimes too sad, when I even am really 
not mournful, yet because he is fair as a thought out of my 
soul, so must 1 be loving to him. He knows not that it is 
music in me which loves him ; I must let it go, all must ripen 
in time. Undisturbed with thee, then feel I the young green, 
how it springs up from me ; thou dost not make a bustle 
about it that in spring-time the fresh grass-blades and plant- 
breathe themselves out, — so am I content, and blossom out 
all my thoughts before thee. 



74 



GUND ERODE. 



20th May. 

Yesterday was Sunday, and I was not cross this morning, 
though the hens cackled me out of the best dream, as in 
Frankfort, when Liesbet would throw wood into the stove 
just as a golden bird was about to fly into my hand. The 
acacias in the court have grown a great deal ; they show in 
the sunshine their last silver on the green. The garden lay 
so drunk with morning before the window, I went down, 
took my old way towards the board wall behind the poplars, 
and scrambled over into the Boskett, where I now write to 
thee. I have torn my clothes as usual when I am so joyous 
and exulting : do not scold me " that I have not taken care 
of my robe." The rose-bushes took a good piece of it as I 
was trying whether I could still rub through between the 
bars of the iron fence to the Boskett ; it can be done yet ; I 
have not gained earth-ballast. Now I am sitting on the ter- 
race that overlooks the Maine, on which the water-spiders 
are travelling about merrily in the morning-sun. If the 
Genius should wander this way, I could not say more to him 
than the bees are humming. It seems as if I heard the 
blossoming citron-trees, all is so still, as on a holiday, and 
the pure little pebbles click shyly beneath my tread, — all 
full of awe and expectation till He comes, — He, for whom 
I wait, — or has He, perchance, been here already ? and has 
so prepared all for me, that I may perceive it was He to 
whom the sun-laden twigs bowed themselves, and after whom 
the waves murmured to my feet. I would sing about it, but 
the little zephyr that went to seek him in that tuft of trees 
returns again, and has not found him, is silent and stirs no 
more, so must I, too, be dumb. 

TO BETTINE. 

Thy letter gives me joy ; in it is a healthy, cheerful life, 
such as I have always loved in thee. Thou makst use of a 
language that might be called a style, if it were not contrary 
to all traditional precepts. Poesy is always genuine style, 
just as it streams from the spirit in harmonious waves, what 
is unworthy of this should not be thought at all ; each event 
of the spirit's life should be poetically regarded, else it suf- 
fers detriment, as I experienced this morning when I re- 
ceived from the old family shoemaker at Henault a bill for 



GUXD ERODE. 



75 



seventeen florins, which I cannot pay ; poetically, to end this 
dilemma, I offer thee the little Apollo as a pledge, together 
with Ttirkheim's laurel crown ; give me the gold. 

As soon as thou hast taken some lessons in history, write 
me about them ; especially in what way thy tutor instructs, 
and whether thou findest a true pleasure in it. I have writ- 
ten diligently on the Tale, but anything so light as I had 
planned at first will not succeed with me ; my mood is often 
very sad,* and I have not power over it. 

Greet Clemens for me when you write ; I mean to write 
to him, and am only waiting for a livelier hour in myself, 
that I may with a clear conscience reproach him for his dis- 
content and whims. Caroline. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

There is gold in the desk before the great mirror, in the 
third drawer to the left, and perhaps in some of the other 
drawers ; take them all out and see whether some has not 
fallen through. The key is beneath the flower-pot on the 
balcony in which the monk's-hood flowers are ; keep the 
Apollo free from dust, and don't let the flies spot it or the 
laurel crown, and of style know I nothing except from thee ; 
nothing superfluous, only what belongs to the thing should I 
write. I take care of my letters as of the apple-trees ; clear 
away caterpillar's nests and barren twigs till they are quite 
bald. It is written thou shalt give account of every idle 
word, and since this cannot be denied, let us govern our- 
selves accordingly. Man receives the spirit with thoughts 
and words ; these are the apartments in which he harbors it, 
the robes of honor in which he arrays it, but these must be 
transparent and fit exactly and in the spaces plainly, for 
what he does not fill out that builds him in. I observe that 
men are very stupid and go a fearful way round about from 
the centre ; indeed to me each truth seems a centre which 
we only revolve around, but never touch. Yesterday I was 
reading to grandmamma from Hemsterhuis ; she said, " That 
is a noble thought ; " then gave me a ginger-nut ; at that 
time came into my head this thought. 

* See Correspondence with a Child, Story of Gunderode, for an ac- 
count of this Tale. 



76 



GUND ERODE. 



MONDAY. 

The history-teacher comes three times a week, Tuesday, 
Wednesday, and Thursday, clinched in between two lazy 
days at each end, Friday and Saturday at one, Sunday and 
Monday at the other. He instructs me so that I probably 
shall turn my back forever to the future, and might get 
cheated out of the sweet present, if the unripe apricots in 
grandmamma's garden did not excite my thievish disposi- 
tion, through which I think to obtain something more to be 
appreciated by my understanding than " The history of 
Egypt is in the early stages dark and uncertain." Though 
this is lucky, else we should be plagued with it. " Menes 
is the first king of whom we know anything." This I should 
like, if we knew anything to signify. " He built Memphis, 
and turned the Nile into a safer channel. Moeris dug out 
lake Moeris to hinder the pernicious overflowings of the Nile. 
He was followed by Sesostris the conqueror, who killed him- 
self." Why ? Was he handsome ? Was he ever in love ? 
Was he young ? Was he melancholy ? To all these ques- 
tions no answer from the teacher except that he might, with 
more probability, be regarded as old. I demonstrated that 
he must have been young, merely to set agoing the wheels of 
time that already stuck fast in the history-mud of weariness. 
Then we scrambled on to Busiris, who built Thebes ; Psam- 
metichus, who took the divided states under his wing ; then 
the wars with Babylon, and Nebuchadnezzar, from whom 
Cambyses, son of Cyrus, takes it again. The Egyptians 
unite with Lybia, make themselves again free, war with the 
Persians ; down to Alexander is strife, and here, to my de- 
light, this history comes to an end. This is the import of 
the first lesson. Thou seest I have been attentive. But 
had I not been spurred on by the need to chase away weari- 
ness, and to show thee how useless it is anew to kindle the 
ashes from which nature cannot a second time extract a salt, 
since there can no more be a glow ; I had said rather, let us 
leave the old rulers to moulder in their pyramids. Spring 
swells the earth, everywhere the buds are putting forth, 
green is dawning amid the folded leaves, — even so puts 
forth my mind, — such spirit swells rapturous on my lips, 
my thoughts are ready to burst their coy sheaths and buds. 
I was in the wood this morning on the Chaussee, with early 



GUXD ERODE. 



77 



dawn, which laid a saffron bandeau round the tree-tops ; on 
the moist ground I found blue forget-me-nots and golden but- 
tercups ; it was so moist, so warm, so mossy, so, burning to 
my face, so cooling from the ground ! The dew was so heavy 
that I got completely wet ; as I came home, the tutor met me 
with the eighteen hundredth year of the world, in which 
Nimrod founded Babylon. I would not ask who Nimrod 
was, for fear he should tell me, and it would be so useless to 
know it. If Nimrod was a good person who might please 
me better than the men w T ho now live, I would consent to 
grant him the duration of immortality; but the tutor followed 
up directly with the Assyrian Ninus, who conquered the 
kingdom from whence he mastered Central Asia ; then he 
ran on without pause till he had freed the empire again 
through Nabopolasar, of whom, also, I know not whence he 
came flying. Nebuchadnezzar conquered Egypt, Babylon- 
ians, Assyrians ; Medes made war, more conquests till Cyrus 
the Persian, — Babylonian history embraces 1 600 years, 
began at eleven o'clock — now clock struck twelve ; I spring 
into the garden. 

FRIDAY. 

This morning the history-man did not come, so I studied 
thorough bass, — of this I may say I learned something ; it 
brought me thoughts ; it speaks to me as a mystery, although 
Hoffman says all is clear as day. This I allow, but also is 
clear day a mystery, so well as the simple Harmony-interval 
of which Hoffman said to-day, " Eegard the Tonic not only 
by itself, but also in reference to every other Tonic, as to its 
related mode of modulation, and which, also, in the degree 
of its relationship, has reference to all collateral relation- 
ships, and thence again, as such, can make itself valid, so 
sees one easily how all possible combinations of three tones 
by means of simple harmony-springs can follow one another." 
I believe, but understand it not, — " consider " — but can one 
consider as one will ? If I should consider the clouds as my 
down-bed, that will not make them come down and cover me. 
The little Hoffman looked at me, astonished at my stupidity ; 
it made him stupid too ; he had nothing to say. At last, he 
said with kindness that, next time, he should certainly be 
able to find a form that would make the thing intelligible to 
me ; he then went on to the practice on the instrument, 



78 



GTJNDERODE. 



where he must spring with a thousand harmony-springs. 
Soon came the next lesson, and I must try, in the dance of 
the chords, whether my spirit, also, would make a bold 
spring, or whether I am born to learn creeping, like a cater- 
pillar. Truly I should like to know — but not as in the old 
worm-eaten history. Ah heaven ! I have no prospect. Yes- 
terday evening I went into the garden after tea ; there heard 
I thoroughly the grass grow, but such things help not as to 
judgment and understanding. The green apples on the wall, 
the downy peaches must I respect, for they evidently grow, 
but I — then I tried to think what I had ever learned, and 
could not even remember the little prayer that I said each 
day for four years. The Lord's prayer — the Creed — the 
Salve, I only know in parts, and this whole summer evening, 
which made me so happy, I kept saying, in hope to patch 
together a Credo, "Ascended to heaven," — write in thy 
next letter what comes next, — yet, in fact, "ascended to 
heaven " was a good end ; if thou also hast forgotten the 
rest, it is no matter ; neither of us need know it, but some- 
thing does come after, of that I am sure. 

SATURDAY. 

Ah ! yesterday was a day full of sunshine ; the flies and 
beetles have so danced and hummed-; they know how to 
revel in joy. I have listened to them in the high grass, 
roofed over by the linen, which is laid out there to bleach. 
The old Cousine watered it several times at noon ; it was 
sometime before single drops dripped through and wet me. 
I heard, as I lay there, the rehearsal of the symphony which 
sounded out from the Boskett on my uncultured ear, and 
astonished it where it could not comprehend. Music, in 
tones borne through the air, streaming out upon us the whole 
power of revelation, and then hovering away; — who can 
wake it again when it has ceased to vibrate ? I am so silly, 
it makes me despair that it has ceased, and I could win 
nothing from it. So will it be many times more : it will 
sound, and I shall not seize it. Yesterday I talked with 
grandmamma, who said, " The heart receives what the 
understanding cannot conceive," — that yet again understand 
I not. 

This morning Hoffman said, " The simple Harmony-inter- 
val is when, between two chords that follow one another, a 



GUXDERODE. 



79 



harmony is heard in the understanding." I hear not this 
harmony in the understanding. I am wholly penetrated 
with what I feel, not what I understand. Believe it — 
music works, inspires, enchants, not through what we hear, 
but through the might of the passed over between lying 
harmonies ; these hold the audible corporeal powers of music 
through their inaudible spiritual power combined with them- 
selves. That is the vast effect on us, that we through the 
heard are excited to the unheard, for we are through one 
tone brought into relation with all, and through all with each 
in particular. I may say I have during the music-lesson 
fallen upon the thought how God has created the world. 
The great word, Let there be, shone in upon me. With- 
out the one is all nothing ; without the all, the one is nothing. 
In each breath circulates the whole creation, Fire, Earth, 
Air, and Water ; — all life and all being is in the alliance of 
these four spirits, which are the life of the universe. These 
four mutually shape and produce one another in the spirit 
where they are united. Music is self-production of these 
four elements in one another. In each being that lives are 
produced these elements ; that is spirit, that is music. The 
animal also has music ; he is sensuously penetrated by water, 
air, earth, and fire, by their spirit, which manifests itself in 
him ; therefore is it so excited by music, because the senses 
slumber in it, dream, and all has a like right to divinity, 
which, through self-production of the elements in it, is ele- 
vated to spirit. I have written ; I stare upon the lines and 
know not what I wished to say. In the light of day is dissi- 
pated the spirit-host of thoughts ; but there beneath the 
linen, where the sun dripped in with the drops of water, 
where I lay all imprisoned in the net of blooming grasses, 
there was it clear to me. Not what we can perceive with 
the senses is the true delight; no, — much more that which 
moves our senses to re-create, live a second life, is delight ! 
To produce ! Enough ! the spirits were mighty within me 
during the music, — distinctly they called to me, take a violin, 
and join in, thus as thou feelest that thou canst aid in bring- 
ing out the stream of harmony, and canst raise it and give it 
force by the rush of thine own inspiration, — stretch thyself 
out on the height, feel thyself in each tone through the rela- 
tionship of thy voice with it. Should any man understand 
and apply with intelligence the science of harmony, he must 



80 



GrUNDERODE. 



secretly govern the world, unmarked by any man, and the 
whole universe must sound to him like one symphony, and 
the whole world-history would drum, and pipe, and harp for 
his good pleasure. 

Yes, I understand it, but I will not say it so to Hoffman ; 
to him will I interpret the first, second, and third degrees of 
all relationships, and how all is subject to me to make use of, 
how I to each man can transmit the dominion, and take it 
away again, and how I ever must reign thus while I swim 
with the stream of divine harmony. 

Adieu, I stretch out my claws like a crab, from 
the low ground of my perceptions, and seize 
what I can first snatch to wind myself out of 
my own ignorance. 

TO BETTINE. 

Hold out yet awhile with thy history-teacher ; that he 
should describe to thee, as briefly as may be, the physiog- 
nomies of the nations, is quite essential. Now that thou 
knowest about the contests between Egypt and Babylon, Me- 
dia and Assyria, they will no longer lie as a stagnant pool in 
thy imagination. Active and energetic in each undertaking, 
what they undertook was wellnigh beyond our power of con- 
ception. They tarried not, but hastened from the beginning 
to the end ; their lives were toiled away as a day's labor in 
the building of their cities, of their temples ; their rulers 
were full of thought, and comprehensively heroic in their 
plans ; the little that we know of them gives us an idea of 
their strength of will, which was greater than the present 
time admits, and leads to the conception of what the human 
soul might be, if it grew on and on in simple service of it- 
self. It is with soul-nature as with earth-nature, a vineyard 
planted on a desert hill, through the wine the power of the 
ground will work upon thy senses ; so will the soul work up- 
on thy senses, which, penetrated by the spirit, pours forth the 
wine of art or poesy, also of higher revelation. The soul 
is like a stony field, which, perhaps, gives the vine just that 
peculiar fire to wake the hidden powers, and to attain what 
we, perhaps, would not dare expect from any genius. But 
thou standest like a lazy boy looking at his task for the day ; 
thou art disheartened, and canst not believe it is possible for 
thee to make fruitful the stony ground over which thorns and 



GUNDERODE. 



81 



thistles are strewing their winged seeds. Meanwhile the 
wind has buried many a noble germ in this savage Steppe, 
which are springing up to triumph in thousand-fold blossoms. 
Thy shy look ventures not to lay hold on the spirit within 
thyself. Thou passest thy own nature defyingly by. Thou 
dost damp its brightest powers by petulant conspiracy against 
the perceptive faculties, which then again suddenly carry thee 
off, before thou art aware; for, in the very midst of thy Des- 
olation-litany, the fire sparkles out, — whence comes that? 
Have the earth-spirits breathed it into thee ? — has it fallen 
down to thee from heaven ? — dost thou sip it as air into 
thee ? I know not whether to warn thee or silently let thee 
take thy own way, and trust to what is written in thy face — 
I know not. I might do so, but that at times I am anxious 
when, as in thy last letter, I perceive faculties in thee which, 
lazily resting on themselves, give forth scarce a sound, as if 
held in the bonds of sleep, and if they stir, it is as if in a 
dream, and thou thyself sleepest so much the sounder, for 
such explosions. Do I right to say this to thee ? — here I 
am troubled again, one should not wake him who sleeps in 
the thunder-storm. Thou dost often appear to me as if electric 
clouds were discharging in the sultry air above thy sleeping 
head. The lightning glances over thy closed lids, enlightens thy 
own dream, irradiates it with inspiration, so that thou speak- 
est out loud, without knowing what thou sayst, and sleepest 
on. Yes, so is it. For thy curiosity must be, in the highest 
degree, excited by all which thy Genius says to thee, despite 
thy oft not venturing to understand him. For thou art cow- 
ardly ; his instructions call upon thee to think, that wilt thou 
not, thou wilt not be awaked. Thou wouldst sleep on. Ven- 
geance will be taken on thee ; wouldst thou so repel the lov- 
er who should eagerly approach thee ? — would not that be 
sin ? I think not of myself, nor of Clemens, who with such 
care watches all thy motions, — I think of thyself, thy own 
spirit who so faithfully watches over thee and is so petulantly 
repelled. The nearer the hills, the greater their shadows ; 
perhaps the present satisfies not, because what lies near us 
throws shadows on our contemplation, thence it is good that 
light from the past should shine on the dark present. There- 
fore the history seemed to me important, to stimulate the in- 
dolent plant-life of thy thoughts, — in it lies the power of all 
culture ; the past urges onwards, by its hand all germs of de- 
G 



82 



GUNDERODE. 



velopment are sown within us. It is one of the two worlds 
of eternity that roll through the soul of man ; the other is the 
future, — thence come, thither hasten the waves of thought. 
Were the thought merely the moment born within us ? This 
is not so. Thy Genius is from eternity, indeed, yet he comes 
to thee through the past, which is hastening to the future 
where it may be fructified, that is present, the proper living ; 
each moment that does not, thus pervaded, keep growing into 
the future, is lost time for which we shall be called to give ac- 
count. This account is nothing but a recalling of the past, a 
means to bring back what is lost; for, with the recognition of 
what has been neglected, falls dew on the fallow fields of the 
past, and the germs are animated to grow into the future. 
Thou thyself didst say to me, as the thistle-bush, round 
which, in the spring, we had seen so many bees and humble- 
bees swarming, scattered its seed-flocks on the Steppes ; " See 
the wind bearing the seeds of the past into the future." And 
on the Grunenburg in the night, when we could not sleep 
because of the storm, — didst thou not say, " The wind comes 
from the distance, its voice sounds hither from the past, and 
its line piping expresses its eagerness to hasten on to the fu- 
ture." From all thy prattle, jests, and wild sallies of that 
night, have I kept this, and can now serve thee for dessert 
with thy own raisins which thou dost so carelessly scatter 
about in thy musical abstractions. Thou remindest me of the 
stork and the fox ; J, poor little fox, offered thee the flat dish 
of history ; then thou, long-bill, hast diligently sought out the 
long-necked flask of thorough-bass and science of harmony, 
before which I must stand empty and famishing. The Jew * 
brought me the nosegay ; the junipers I planted behind 
the Apollo, they breathe aromatically round him ; the blue 
pearls and the delicate needles point towards him. When 
thou comest we will burn them in the wind-furnace, in my 
chamber, and all bad omens with them, so be not impatient if 
I sometimes heat thee a little ; I enjoy my merry little fire. 

CAROLINE. 

Be for my sake steadfast awhile ; trust me, the history 
ground-work is entirely fit for thy fancies, thy conceptions, in- 
deed, necessary for them. When wilt thou collect thyself, if 

* A messenger who went daily from Offenbach to Frankfort. 



GUXD ERODE. 



thou hast no ground beneath thee ? Canst thou not be com- 
posed to receive this influence? Perhaps because what thou 
shouldst grasp is too strong for thee. Perhaps because he 
who, with joyful heart, leaped into the gulf to save his peo- 
ple was, through the pas', inspired for the future, while thou 
hast no reverence for the love of country. Perhaps because 
he. who laid his hand in the fire, did it from the love of 
truth, while thou canst not be clone with bringing lies to sus- 
tain thy fantastic flights, to which alone thou payest honor, 
and not to the full, sweet grapes of revelation that ripen on 
thy lips. 

I am curious to know whether Hoffman will understand 
thy musical illuminations beneath the wet linen. If he is to 
understand whether thou hast rightly understood, thou must 
offer him thy harmonic vertigos in clearer modulations than 
to me. It is this alone — this sacred clearness — that can give 
us assurance whether spirits lovingly embrace us. If only 
thy music might not come quickly to an end, like thy study- 
ing languages, thy irruptions into physics, and thy essays on 
philosophy, mere whimsies in thy existence, while thou art 
too much elated to travel along plain ground without mak- 
ing, each moment, a somerset against thy will ! 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUXD ERODE. • 

Thou shinest on me with thy intellect, thou Muse, and com- 
est where I sit by the way-side to strew salt on my dry bread. 
I hold thee dear, — whistle before my window in the black 
midnight, and I tear myself away from my moonlight dream, 
and go with thee. Thy Schelling's-philo-ophy is to me, in- 
deed, a pit ; it makes me giddy to look down and see where 
I might break my neck, trying to- find my way through the 
dark gulf, yet for thy love I would creep through on all fours. 
And the Lunenburg heath of the past, which finds no end 
and grows broader with each step ; thou sayest, in the letter 
which thou hast written so long for my sake, I need all this 
to make me reflect, to know myself; I will not contradict 
thee ! Couldst thou but discern the mischievous, terrific 
ghosts that follow me in this history-desert, and bar the 
way to the holy temple of inspiration, where thou art 
walking so calmly, and make to me insecure and dismal the 
magic gardens of fantasy, which received thee in their thou- 



84 



GUNDERODE. 



sand-colored groves. When the tutor opens his mouth, I 
look into it as an impenetrable gulf which spews forth the 
mammoth-bones of the past and all sorts of fossil-stuff that 
never bud or bloom to pay back sun and rain. Meanwhile 
the ground burns beneath my feet for the sake of the pres- 
ent, which I would fain be wooing without first laying my- 
self on the anvil of the past, there to be hammered flat. 
Thou speakest of my perceptive faculties with respect ; — if 
I have received aught from the past, as thou thinkest, if I 
understand thee, I know not how it happened. Is it the 
Genius that comes wandering this way ? Wouldst thou so 
persuade me, — fine rogue? My Genius, the fair-haired, 
whose beard has not yet begun to grow, wouldst thou per- 
suade me that he will start up out of the mould, like a mush- 
room ? Truly there are spirits that revolve round their own 
centres like suns ; they come no-whence, and go no-whither, 
they dance upon the place, giddiness is their delight, mine is 
therewith fully enchanted. I let myself be made giddy with 
him. The intoxication gives double power, it carries me up, 
and if it, in its wildness, gives me up to the mercy of the 
four winds, that affrights me not, I am happy as they play ball 
with me, — the spirits of the air. Presently I stand again 
upon my feet, my Genius sets me down softly — this thou 
callst sleeping in the sultry air — this thou callst cowardly ? 
I am not cowardly — his inspirations summon me to think, 
thou sayst — and I had rather sleep, thou sayst ; — ah 
Heaven ! Thinking I have forsworn, but I am awake and 
fiery in the spirit. What shall I think, when my eyes look yon 
past behind me into the darkness ; how can I fasten them on 
the morrow, that carries me hastily onward. It is the pres- 
ent that tears me away with it into the uncertain blue, yes, 
into the uncertain, but, also, toward the heavenly, golden- 
locked, radiant face of the Sun-god, who powerfully urges his 
steeds ; and beyond nothing. Evening receives me into her 
bosom, musing lie I there awhile, look into the distance ; 
great heroes come forward on the full high-road of history, I 
hear the trampling of their mighty steeds ; I would away to 
carry the mighty banner before them, how would I rejoice in 
the breezes that flutter therein, how would I rejoice in my 
own locks that, borne back in the exulting gallop, play round 
me, lightly touching my cheeks ! Now bold rushing on into 
life, now impetuous behind Him over the heath ! How merry, 



GUXD ERODE. 



85 



upwards, forwards, down through the thick smoke ! Who beck- 
ons on the hill ? his eye rests upon me. his drums direct, his 
trumpet calls . l — and then in the night — before his teut ! — 
and sleep sound, for He, the Genius of the Time, will wake at 
the right hour, and beneath the shelter of his wings I look out 
upon the fields, see him overflow them, awake the nations, kin- 
dle them with his look, till they joyfully wed death or the grave, 
crowned with laurels, — now, comrade, wilt thou with me ? 

To-day has the past been spewed out, as briefly as possi- 
ble, for I was seated on the roof ; the Assyrian empire found- 
ed by Asser shortly after the foundation of the Babylonian 
empire ; the word u founded " always distracts my attention, 
ever since the convent where I must so often read how the 
holy Boniface founded the holy order of the Benedictines, 
or Antony of Padua, or Francis, &c. ; it reminds me of the 
battles that these holy captains had to wage with the devil, 
and then I think of all nations, who were fighting, horned 
and cloven-footed, spitting fire and breathing out pestilential 
vapor, which the past blows over me. But the holy Assyri- 
ans in cowls that make the battle very heavy to them ! I 
think, I think — of all the devils. Meanwhile Ninus, the 
conqueror, has whisked over from central Asia, built Nin- 
eveh, the capital of Assyria, is dead, his war- and building- 
loving wife, Semiramis has yet a bit of Babylon left to build, 
and makes brilliant campaigns ; all that was lost through the 
convent and wood-demons, together with holy founders of 
orders. Through artifices and questions, however, I get 
from the teacher that nothing further came to pass. Over 
the story of Semiramis has the past let grow such thick 
mould, that only through the blue eye of immortality her 
name looks out, else knew we quite nothing. Afterwards, the 
Medes conquered Assyria, it made itself again free until the 
Babylonian king Nabopolasar (who makes me think of a 
centaur, because the syllable-fall of his name is somewhat 
like the gallop of a light Arabian courser) acquires it and 
divides it with Persia. Herewith the past could not have 
done for to-day, but announces further. u The oldest history 
of the Medes is unknown." Arbaces, freed through conquest of 
Sardanapalus from the Assyrian yoke, in the year of the world 
3108, carefully measured, for the teacher's fancy stretches 
itself solely in the year of the world. Dejoces built Ecbata- 
na, (read Tian's illustrations of this magnificent city.) As- 



86 



GUNDERODE. 



tyages (whence came he hither?) weds his daughter to the 
Persian king, Cambyses, whose son Cyrus cast down his 
grandfather from the throne (who, however, remained seated 
there too long) — he unites Media, Assyria, and Persia, and 
founds the great Medo-Persian empire ; — the Jew Hirsch, 
from the race of Esau, stretches in his rough hand to take 
possession of it, he will keep it under the yoke in his old 
sack, till thou freest it ; if thou dost put it in the furnace 
with the old papers, thou wilt destroy for me some very hard- 
won past. 

Write of the Tale. bettine. 

Write nothing to Clemens about me, pray say nothing of 
my wild freaks, for it makes him think that I am mad. He 
asks a thousand questions, he is quite amazed that I should 
be thus ; he investigates, he seeks a cause, and asks other 
people if I am in love, when I have but retired into the holy 
orders of my own nature. For instance, if he knew that in 
the evening I sit on the roof of the dove-cot, and play on the 
flageolet to the setting sun, would he call it well done ? My 
poor young life, I can deny it nothing. Speak to no one 
about me, leave people the heartily bad opinion they have of 
me ; it is my best pleasure. — I commune with my demon 
and he says: "Thou shalt not defend thyself" — I do what 
he wills, all else matters not. Sometimes I have visions of 
him ; Psyche was not so favored, she saw not his image, for it 
was deep dark night around her; but I, when my heart feels, 
can also see what enchants it, wherefore I would live a heav- 
enly, misty life in youthful radiance. Stepping forth, a 
little inclined to one side, he stands ever before me, his re- 
gards not fully bent on me, modestly he shows himself in my 
bosom, the deity I would propitiate with sweet tears ; who 
rouses me from my couch ere dawn, that I may arise and 
perhaps meet him. Thus I hurry onward, feeling myself fair 
at heart, conscious of my own beauty ; my soul is a mirror 
filled with heavenly charm. 

Each dew-drop by the way-side tells me that I please my 
— him. What would I more, whom else care to please, 
but him ? Oh, do believe it, he is indeed real, receding with 
each step, and anon returning ! How the light is mirrored 
in his eyes ! it dazzles me, then wraps itself in shadow, then 
again catches the light, now swimmingly the radiance seems 



GUXDERODE. 



87 



to vanish, but afar it brightens and glows still. Again the 
eye seeks him, it has already found him, then closes seeing 
inwardly enjoying in silence. 

I know all things ! — I know how to love, — but only the 
Genius, no one dare know the secret, revolving in brilliant 
circles around me. When I stand thus, with folded arms, and 
my eyes quiet, (grandmamma calls them rigid,) exclaiming, 
" Girl what starest so, one would believe thou wert re- 
moved beyond the world." I start, then she laughs. — " Good 
child where wert thou, wert with thy guardian angel ?" (So 
the Suabians call it when one is thus lost in oneself.) I 
would say yes, yet could not. He called to me : Silence ! 
and should I make a sound when he bids silence ! that closes 
my lips forever. — Forever, Giinderode, thou art but the 
echo through which my earthly life perceives the spirit that 
in me dwells, else had I nought, else knew I nought, did I not 
pour it out before thee. 

To Clemens say that I am studying, hard, as it rains from 
the skies ; and that it saves me to no purpose, say too ; but 
from me, about us say nothing. He need not know what 
loving mates we are, so secretly together, when he, and no one 
else is by. 

Look up, Giinderode ! presently a heavenly dancer will 
glide from behind the scenes. The dance is the key to my 
forebodings of another world. It awakens the soul, that 
speaks wildly like a child lost in a labyrinth of flowers, then 
the little one wavers and reels, stretching out its arms to the 
blossoming branches, for it has been winding round and 
round so long, — looking upward, the moon stands'over it and 
soothes its giddiness with steady, quiet eyes, and regarding 
them makes it revive. What thinkst thou I am raving to 
thee about, swallowing my tears the while? I often think I 
can bring forth a world, to the world with my mouth, if it 
would speak as God has lain it on my tongue, but when it 
shall out, then it hesitates. But 'tis agreed ; may we stam- 
mer, lisp, or only sigh, we will secretly divine each other, 
not so ? — as on the green castle-hill at twilight, when we lay 
in the grass. Then was I joyous with my tongue, it seemed 
to me there as if some one were whispering behind me. 
Thou askedst why I turned round so often? — I said there 
was dancing behind me ; I would not say speaking, for it was 
more like dancing and lightly gliding in circles around me. 



88 



GUNDERODE. 



Nymphs, holding each other by the hand ; from behind the 
three great cypresses they came, gracefully swaying their lit- 
tle heads and feet. Thou turnedst to me and saidst : " Be no 
fool ! " — Ha, ha, I must laugh, that was indeed too late, for I 
am already a fool ! And what I am prating to thee about is 
the melody to which they were dancing behind me, that blew 
our deep philosophical text into the air. What was it about ? 
— of the inner perception, and the contemplation of the 
mind ; if they were different, and whence they sprung, if sen- 
suous perception or spontaneously, and where those sources 
arise, if right, if left. All that you would have pumped out 
of me in the growing twilight. Schwerenoth, that was too 
bad, I would yet like to box thy ears for it. But even that 
was so sweet ; thou didst not grow angry, and gently leanedst 
thy smitten cheek against me, and cooing like a dove thou 
saidst "yes," when I asked thee if it pained, " but it matters 
not." There, I have written it down, for where so much 
nonsense stands, I can also write that I boxed thy ears. 

But the vast stillness about us solemnized our reconciliation. 
The twilight growing deeper and deeper, and the misty cur- 
tain across the willow -path down the Feldberg, with the 
seam of light along the horizon ; how can I forget it ? First 
we leaned against each other so still, and then I lay across 
thy feet ; thus I thought thou wert sleeping, for I heard thee 
breathing hard, and would just speak myself, then didst 
thou begin to speak, (here thou hast it set to music.) 

Liebst du das Dunkel 
Thauigter Nachte ? 
Graut dir der Morgen, 
Starrst du ins Spatroth? 
Seufzest beim Mahle, 
Stossest den Becher 
Weg von den Lippen ? 
Liebet du nicht Jagdlust ? 
Eeizet dich Ruhm nicht, — 
Schlachtengetutnmel ? 
Welken die Blumen 
Schneller am Busen 
Als sie sonst welkten ? 
Drangt sich das Blut dir 
Pochend zum Herzen? 

Lovst thou the darkness 
Of dew-glistening nights? 
Seest thou the dawning, 
Watchest the sunset? 
Sighst at the feast thou, 



GUND ERODE. 



89 



Pushing the wine-cup 
Away from thy lips? 
Lovst not the glad chase? 
Doth not fame tempt thee, — 
The din of battle? 
Fades the fair flower 
Sooner at thy breast 
Than once it faded? 
Rushes the quick blood 
To thy throbbing heart 

Ah ! thou didst cease. For that I had to thank my impa- 
tience to hear, no, to feel, the sweet dance of thy words, as 
with panting bosom it leaned over the waves that they might 
embrace and cool it. I could not wait that thou mightst 
dance on the dance of thy soul, and it was past. Then I 
made a verse between-while to start thee again, when thou 
saidst, " Go to, thou ass," and all was over. Ah ! how many 
melodies have I sung to that verse ; it had to receive the 
shading of all my moods. Only to-day, by the garden-wall, 
I struck the iron railing with a stick, and it reverberated in 
my heart like a throb ; I sung to it so boldly, so loudly, and 
powerfully as though my heart had burst into flame, beat- 
ing beyond measure. Canst thou not sing more of what hap- 
pened, when the " blood rushed to thy throbbing heart," or 
wilt thou not tell me ? am I too young for that also ? If thou 
thinkst so then I will prove to thee that I can reach far be- 
yond, and that I know more than many whose hearts have 
throbbed as mine never has. 

Often the heart-beat comes from a smile ; that have I 
learnt by my own experience, only last night on the seat be- 
fore the garden-gate ; there I sat, it was eleven o'clock, all 
slept, only at the neighbor's a night-lamp was burning. 

Adieu, sleep well, for it is eleven o'clock ; all are again at 
rest, and I will once more seat myself on the bench before 
the gate. The full moon will soon rise and I must see it 
come up. Good-night. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

Thy horn, filled merrily, and with extravagant plenty, re- 
leased me from evil. Thoughts often trouble me at night, 
and carry their sad refrain through the next day. So is it now. 
Thy young fresh life, the ringing and rushing of thy inspi- 
ration, but especially thy love of nature, breathe a balsamic 
breath over me. Let me enjoy it, write on, also your dithy- 



90 



GUNDERODE. 



rambic extravagances, that, so suddenly bereft of flame, 
and charred as if a frolicsome wind had blown them out, are 
dear to me. For my sake stay awhile at thy history yet, for 
as thou learnst it now it cannot oppress thee ; even if thou 
hast not yet much profit from it, thou still canst entwine it 
with the art-wreath of the day. I shall see thee soon, George 
has promised to drive me over in his gig. Do not spend thy 
nights without sleep, climbing on roofs and trees so thou risk- 
est thy neck, and think not that is the way to improve thy 
health. What says grandmamma to all this ? Is she sat- 
isfied ? 

To Clemens will I gladly say nothing of thy letters to me, 
as thou wishest it ; and I feel that I ought not ; it were only 
an interruption without gain. He sees thee so differently, 
yet judges thee not wrongly, and finds, in the glistening rays 
of thy being, jewels he woul.d seize upon, yet cannot hold, for 
they are but the flashes of thy imagination, that bewilder 
him, and every one. 

Thinkst thou that I am quiet when thou speakst thus to 
me, skipping from one thing to another, so that I lose thee 
out of sight every moment ? thou wilt unsettle me with thy 
oddities. But I will not chide thy laughter which has so 
often made me frantic, when thou wouldst have soothed me 
with it, — well I must submit that thou hunt me with all thy 
arrows, like a poor deer. 

And to Clemens, who is ever spurring me on to learn with 
thee, who will always know how, and what, thou art doing, 
and regrets each breath of thine that is lost, and is enrap- 
tured by thy little letters to him, in which thou vvritest so dif- 
ferently ; submissive like a child, and to me so extravagant- 
ly, what shall I say to him ? Do beware and rattle not down 
from the roof some night with thy flageolet. 

Had I not faith in God, that he knows why all is within 
thee as it is, and not otherwise, and that it concerns him 
alone, as it was his will thus to form thy soul, — what should 
I think of thee. 

Clemens writes that thou oughtst constantly to compose, 
and nothing be allowed to affect thee but what awakens thy 
powers. It is really touching that while he is careless, reck- 
less, destructive with himself, overleaping everything that 
comes in his way, he should rest with such devotion before 
thee, as if thine were the only soul unapproachable by him. 



GUN D ERODE. 



01 



Thou art to him a sanctuary. Sometimes when he comes 
over from Offenbach, he is silently wrapped in his own 
thoughts, while formerly his coquetry was constantly alive, and 
he would often save little scribblings of thine. It were sad wert 
thou not lovingly inclined to him. Do not write again u pas- 
sirt" (happened) the word is not German, is vulgarly used, 
and without sound ; canst thou not rather choose one from 
among the wealth of German expressions as a pure style re- 
quires. Thou canst employ them all, but not u passii*t" Yet 
I must answer thee : nothing has happened. Besides thou 
knowst everything better as thou sayst, — and pretenclst 
great adventures at night on the garden-bench. I do not fear 
but thou wilt tell me if it is a real experience ; and thou dost 
not forget thy lies by the next letter. Then -too I pray thee 
swear no more ; thy letters are all dear to me, and I am fond 
of thy lucid extravagances ; but words used boastingly, as 
" Schiverenoth" that have no meaning in thy mouth, thou 
mayst as well leave unsaid, else I shall not believe that the 
melody and graceful dance of thy Genius accompany thy in- 
ner life. Secondly, attribute to me nothing of which I am 
not guilty. The evening on the castle-hill I recollect dis- 
tinctly, just as thou describst it. I w T as much absorbed and 
conscious, for the impression of the words we exchanged re- 
mained till the next day ; — but an ass I did not call thee, that 
again is one of thy inappropriate inventions. Do not charge 
me thus again, for I am sensitive. In the beginning of thy 
letters thou callest me thy Muse, and at the end permittst her 
to call thee an ass. It would be ludicrous, were it not sad, that 
thou venturst to slander thy Muse. Caroline. 

TO GUND ERODE. 

Three o'clock in the morning ! — Here I am on the ter- 
race above the Maine ; I have always wanted to go there 
early, when day is not yet awake and noisy. During the day I 
cannot collect myself, and it seems always like a wrong that 
I sympathize with what concerns me not ; but at dawn, then 
am I free at heart, not ashamed to ask Nature, and ready to 
understand her. Last night I was so happy here, when 
Bernhardt boat was sailing back and forth on the Maine, 
with the music on board. Many persons followed it in skiffs ; 
we remained on shore, and I seated myself in a corner where 
a great lemon-tree stands. It was lightning, but the air was 



92 



GUNDERODE. 



not refreshed. The blossoms on the tree flashed too, or could 
I have been deceived ? for the music had put me to sleep, 
and awakening I saw with astonishment that the tree above 
me was breathing flames from its blossoms. I could not 
have dreamed it, — for I looked on quite a while, till a soft 
rain came ; then we went home. Who knows the silent 
workings of Nature, which she hides from us ? Man, too, 
has feelings that he will not have pried into. That the tree 
continued to flash while I stood meditating and watching it, 
makes me glad. I could not sleep in bed, I had been so 
happy there yesterday, where I heard the heart of Nature 
throb, and where she flashed at me from the flowers. In 
darkness we can breathe our love, and are not ashamed to 
confess it to the loved one, for darkness hides us. 

Now did I come here stealthily, secretly, so that it be not 
known, as also that flashing was secret. 

First, the garden-gate creaked, and the gravel crackled 
under my feet ; one fears to awaken the shrubs, so still is it, 
so full of rest. The drowsy flowers shudder in the early dew, 
and I shudder at silent Nature, busy over the sleeping world, 
although the wind that ushered in morning was not keen. 
To-day is mild ; last night the sky was green and mixed 
with red, that rose from the sunset ; below were stripes of 
purple and violet edged with fire. Then night spread over 
all. This morning, at dawn, the clouds were wrapping their 
fiery pinions around your dark dome ; one would think they 
meant to destroy it in their glowing embrace. Through all, 
the nightingales are warbling, and beyond rose the blue hills ! 
so grand, so proud ! — - All this I enjoy more than wisdom, 
here under the lemon-tree, that yesterday shook flames, and 
to-day weeps tears over me. — And now I go ; I have im- 
pressed thee with all, but betrayed nothing, yet am I tempted 
that it may not be forgotten, to confide it to thee. 

NO. 2. IN THE EVENING. 

To-day the Jew did not come till seven. 

With grandmamma I am on the best terms, and, as long 
as aunt is at the Springs, I shall remain here. She is pleased 
that I like to be with her ; but there are many things beside 
that attract me, of which she knows nothing. This morning 
I came into the garden just as Bernhardt gardener was 
transplanting some crimson carnations around a hill of lilies 



GUNDERODE. 



93 



in the centre of which stood a rose-bush. This morning-work 
pleased me well, so I assisted at it with devotion. Devotion 
to Nature is like temple-worship. When the boy Ton steps 
before the portals, and signs to the flying storks not to defile 
the roof of the temple ; when he sprinkles the threshold 
with sparkling water, cleanses and decorates the halls ; then 
do I feel a high mission in this solitary occupation, which I 
must reverence. Oh ! I too would be a youth, to fetch water 
in the freshness of morning, when all yet slumber, to polish 
the marble pillars, and bathe my idols with mute significance, 
cleansing everything from dust, that it glistens in the dusky 
light ; then, after the labor is finished, to rest my hot brow 
on the cool marble in secret content ; rest the bosom that 
heaves with tears at the beauty in the gloaming of the 
temple. 

So seems my task to-day like the temple-service of Na- 
ture ; for entwining her flowers to beautiful wreaths, is that 
not serving her? The flowers wafting about their sweet 
odors, or blending them in luxurious breathings, is for them 
not a fairer spring in store ; for that which is fairer to us, is 
that not also fairer in Nature ? To free her trees from moss, 
to plant them in neighborly rows, and moisten her flower- 
cups, is that not yielding to her will ? Does she not bless 
the care, and gives she not to the grafted bough more, and 
sweeter fruits ? — Temple and Nature, peaceable friends like 
thee and me ! Like us, they divide their gifts. From spring 
to winter (thou hast my vow) will I share with thee the 
temple and the natural garden that surrounds it. In spring, 
thou hast my germs that sprout closely around thee. In 
summer, the song of the wild bird, that rings against thy 
closed portals, and then out into the distance, where the pil- 
grims are wending homeward, that have worshipped at thy 
shrines during the day ; then glow the flowers by the path 
that leads from me to thee. In autumn I will bear my fruits 
to thee, lay them on thy altar, and hoard the honey of my 
bees swarming around thee, in thy sacrificial urns. Then 
will I whirl the sere leaves down on thy Steppes, to dance about 
thee in the winter-wind, and bury themselves in the snow 
which my burdened trees shower over thee. Now it roars 
without and storms, but my soul dwells within thee and 
cherishes thee, and feeds with pure oil the lamp that illu- 
mines thy silent hall. High in the firmament the stars beam 



94 



GUNDERODE. 



above thy roof. Still is it then, and forsaken by all men are 
we. The beaten paths closed with drifts ; I dwell alone in 
thee, when we have compassed the limits of life together. 
When Nature enters the temple in winter and rests there 
in God-feeling, that men call her winter-sleep. Soon she 
returns with regenerated powers, to blossom anew, and ex- 
pands, wafting abroad the heavenly breath she has breathed, 
and thus is the temple of God ever filled by Nature's 
love. 

I write down that I am happy to-day ; the sun is shining 
on my paper, lighting up my thoughts, so that I can dis- 
tinctly read in my own heart The gardener is very good; 
he selects the finest flowers from all the shrubs for me ; the 
nosegay towers over my head with lovely and fresh foliage ; 
the larch-tree and the scarlet-oak are among it too. This 
tree is what one calls well-grown ; it stretches its scarlet 
leaves into the blue air to dance, and they are moved by 
the least breath. Going home I had thoughts that enter- 
tained me, and of which I desire that they might be true, 
they were not implanted within me, but spontaneously they 
grew, like those flowers on the meadow. Nature is com- 
municative, and those that do not miss her teachings have 
thinking enough to do. Early morn has golden lips — had 
I not gone out early, the thoughts would not have come to 
me, and the scorched life-paths that burn under the soles 
of others, never are trodden by my feet. What hast thou 
to fret about my wakefulness ? — So many flowers are only 
fragrant at night. Is it needful that every one sleep at 
night ? Can they not, like night-shade and viola matronalis, 
sleep by day, and pour forth their odors at even ? Why 
are many people so drowsy, and cannot come to themselves 
by day, but because they are night-flowers, that the wearing 
usage of day has unsettled, so that they have lost the con- 
sciousness of their natural impulses ? 

Some people are only sensible between daylight and dark ; 
evenings they understand everything ; towards morning they 
have vivid dreams, and by day they are like sheep. Thus 
am I ; my awakening is early ; I must anticipate the sun- 
god ; cleanse like that boy the temple ; then rests he with 
me, teaching me his oracles ; all coincide j — come to pass, 
I would say — also that I am so drowsy when the history- 
teacher comes at noon; just that is my sleepiest time. 



GUNDEEODE. 



95 



Thou also hast no day-temperament ; thy awakening seems 
to begin when the god of day declines and stands not so 
high in the heavens. To thee he inclines, and graciously 
thou keepst pace with him from late at noon till sunset; 
and with the hem of your robes you wave to each other 
from afar. Then beams the evening star to thy night- 
thoughts of him, that rise slowly in memory like the wave 
that heaves against the rock at high tide, cooling the heat 
with which the day-god has scorched it at ebb. The Jew 
comes. Adieu. But what hast thou that vexes thee so? 
Let me breathe on thee from my letter. 

Savignys will be on the Trages for three weeks yet ; do 
go there. " Teufel and Donnerwetter ! " is that swearing 
too ? Must I not say that either ? About Clemens, do not 
believe that I belie him ; I am different in my letters to him, 
because I must be so. — In Brugel the little organ has eleven 
stops : an open diapason, a stopped diapason, a harp-stop, a 
trumpet-stop, a trombone-stop, and a reed-stop, called angel's 
voice, and — what do I know — vox humana, though Hoff- 
mann did talk to me about it for half an hour yesterday. He 
said there were organs that had thirty stops, and that my 
throat is such an organ, and that I always pulled another stop 
when I sung gently or with ardor ; ringingly when it rages 
within me, touchingly when sighs move my soul, and power- 
fully when it seems that I alone must overcome all things. 
That did the little man know ; for last night he listened to 
me while I was chanting a Homeric hymn to Diana on the 
roof as the full moon came up. It seemed to me so ap- 
propriate to render this goddess the gushing worship of my 
inmost soul, that I did not think of being overheard, and sung 
with all my might. Hoffmann said it was astonishing. Xow 
it seems to me that Clemens always pulls the stop of the 
child's voice in my bosom. At Frankfort, in the assemblies 
of the Primate, the piping angel's voice predominates. 
When I am with thee, I must always subdue the trombone- 
stop, by force of the gentle vox humana. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

About Clemens I understand thee, or rather I divine thy 
meaning, and have no idea that it should be otherwise ; only 
that which he says of thee, his expression of thee, which he 
often gives, sometimes causes me a strange feeling, for he 



96 



GUNDERODE. 



penetrates thee with a prophet's eye. Other people say he 
boasts, and so it really is, but he always utters the truth, as I, 
among them all, alone know best. Then, in order to prove 
his extravagance, every one attacks thee behind his back ; 
in his presence no one ventures to, and all remain silent. It 
has often been painful to me to hear thee thus judged, but 
now I have overcome this unworthy fear. Yesterday, Ebel, 
St. Clair, Link, and Lotte were in Tonie's cabinet, but as I 
know how wide the arrows hurled at thee flew of the mark, 
I had no fear. Ebel is not against thee from personal dis- 
like, but from an averseness of disposition ; because, since 
Clemens is here, he has had to suffer most from him, never 
evading his warmth from timidity ; so I do not blame him 
that he now indemnifies himself with full enjoyment. St. 
Clair looked at me, and shook his head, for Lotte was demon- 
strating that entire want of historic appreciation and logic 
proved that thou wert a fool. He replied, " Put a standard 
into her hand, and let her go before, and you will find that in 
spite of her want of historic sense, she will lead us to a 
healthy turning-point in history. If you are all endangered 
with your logic, she will teach you how to evade it, illogi- 
cally as she may contrive, according to your opinion." Do 
go, he said, with your wise judgment of a child of nature, 
who has not had step-motherly treatment, and has it written 
on her brow, that care was not apportioned to her. He held 
out his hand to me, for he saw that I was pleased. To Lot- 
ted lecture, who now thrust herself forward with redoubled 
vigor, he did not reply, and no one. The conversation went 
out like a candle extinguished by a gust of wind. More 
now than ever am I inclined to conceal thee from all. Cle- 
mens, — he will, after a hundred years, find thee on Mt. 
Arafat ; like Adam, when he lost sight of Eve, after their 
expulsion from Paradise, she dwelling meanwhile on that 
mountain, near Mecca, while he had been cast away on 
Serendib or Ceylon. His soul was impressed with her soul ; 
he understood her well, and eagerly sought her. Often even 
he spake to the wild beasts, to the storms on the moun- 
tains, and the birds, that if they met her on their way, they 
should honor her. Thus he spake to the birds and beasts, 
and the plants, until the Angel Gabriel led him to that mount 
near Mecca. From this the mountain takes its name of Ara- 
fat, which means in Arabic " recognition," and the pilgrims 



GUXD ERODE. 



97 



to Mecca worship there on the day Arafah, which is the 
ninth day in the last month of the Arabic year. May then 
Clemens, like Adam, preach to the monsters and mountain- 
storms about thee ; meanwhile, I am contented that thou hast 
placed me as keeper over thy hidden dwelling, and madst 
me the recipient of thy secret delights. I am so pleased 
with thy charming picture, and the description of thy adven- 
tures, that I could ever sit and listen to thee. Leave out 
nothing ; write me everything, as though it were a song, of 
which thou canst not leave out a single tone without inter- 
rupting the harmony. I will certainly not move, and be 
silent. And the thoughts which delight thee, of which thou 
wishest they were real, growing spontaneously within thee, 
wilt thou not also write them down for me ? Each day I 
wait for thy letters, and ever I fear that thou mayst miss a 
day. Till now thou hast been very kind to me. I go con- 
fidently in the dark and grope for a letter on my pillow, 
where it is placed by the maid, and hold it in my hand till 
light is brought ; in bed I read it again ; that gives me good 
thoughts. Now also am I quite happy, only I can do noth- 
ing myself. / 

Thy tales and forebodings occupy me, I dream myself to 
sleep, when all is thought and felt over again after thee. I 
have a sort of inner faith in thy fantastical notions about me ; 
so to-day I went out before the Gallen-gate, when the sun- 
god was waning, as thou thinkst that is my best time with 
him, and was quite impressed by his great presence ; but 
homeward, two Frankfort Philisters behind me interrupted 
my devotions. They were speaking of thee and me ; the woman 
said to the man : " In the Institute they will turn the giiTs 
head, so that in the end she will lose her wits entirely ; she 
is already inclined enough to all sorts of hare-brained feats ; 
it is said that in the garden of the Institute she mounts the 
summer-house roof, or a tree, and preaches, and that tall 
g — se Giinderode stands below and listens." Just then they 
passed me, and I recognized Frau Euler, with her daughter 
Salome and Dr. Lehr. He saw me too in the twilight, and 
told her so, when she stood still and stared at me, until I had 
again passed them, — which certainly was far more stupid 
than if I stood under a tree from which thou wert preaching. 
" Teufel and Donnerwetter " are also commonly used as oaths, 
but they have a defiant warlike spirit ; for instance, when 
7 



98 



GUNDERODE. 



thou unfurlst the standard with which St. Clair would intrust 
thee, placing victory and success in thy hands, in defiance of 
all Philistines, then canst thou give the rein to thy tongue ; 
but until then do not let thy courage consume itself in vain 
outbursts. Farewell, I am not writing the tale. He forgets 
to turn the plough while gazing at the stars he sees blinking 
in the water. Adieu, and think of me. Caroline. 

The cause of the dispute about thee was a letter of thine, 
that in thy eighth or ninth year thou hadst written to thy fa- 
ther from the Convent, just before his death, and which is said 
to have given him great pleasure, so that he often read it 
during his illness. St. Clair has the copy from Clemens, who 
had preserved the original ; and he says in that letter lay the 
germ of all thy later charm. Lotte would not admit it, and 
said it was ridiculous to praise it even as a letter, and that 
Clemens was turning thy head. The letter reads as follows, 
and thou canst judge thyself : " Dear Papa, — nothing. The 
left hand (here a hand was drawn in ink) into papa's jabot ? 
and upon his heart, and the right one (here another hand 
was drawn) round papa's neck. If I have no hand, I can- 
not write. Your loving daughter, 

" Fritzlar, 1796. April 4th. bettine." 

What vexed me, was, that Lotte constantly read the letter 
aloud, in a shrill voice, not sparing either the simplicity of a 
child of eight, nor the love of a departed father. I re- 
proached St. Clair for having shown it. Ah ! said he, I have 
regretted it a hundred times. One can also in future exclaim 
to her, as to Samson : " The Philistines be upon thee, Bet- 
tine ! " Fortunately her strength is not in her locks, which 
can be cut off, but in the spirit, and that will not be led cap- 
tive. This is a good story, is't not ? I believe St. Clair 
loves thee ; Lotte said thou hadst a long converse with him 
at the Tanner's mill. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

A few years ago there dwelt here next door, in a now va*- 
cant house, a man who had come from afar, from Switzer- 
land I believe, who did miracles by the power of his will. 
There was much talk about him at table. It was said, that 
with his eyes he could put sick persons to sleep, who then 



GTJNDERODE. 



99 



would tell him their disease, and how it could best be re- 
lieved, also that they could look into the past and future, but 
on awakening they knew nothing more about it. This 
man was mysterious to me, as people spoke of him with 
awe. From a moss-seat, by the garden- wall, I could look over 
into his garden, where he was walking up and down in the 
moonlight. He came up to me, and handed me a few ripe 
strawberries across the wall, saying, " Eat them deliberately 
and taste them well, and you will have more than if you heed- 
lessly eat a whole basketful." I got down from my seat, ate 
my strawberries one after the other, surprised at the kindly 
man. The next day when I saw him walking in his garden, 
I went to the wall again ; he gave me his hand, which I held 
fast, and he said, " The strawberries tasted good ? what did 
they taste like ? " Like fair weather and very fruitful soil. 
The man was pleased with the answer, and said, " It is too 
dark now, but to-morrow at daylight take a leaf from any 
tree or flower, and hold it so that the sun-rays can shine 
through it, and you will perceive therein many vessels that 
are penetrated by the light. Thus is it also with your little 
head, it is intended that the light may freely pass through it, 
and ripen you, that you too like the strawberries may taste of 
fair weather, of sun- and moon-beams." I told him how I 
had heard that he could read people by his will, and they 
must think what he would. He replied, " Yes, I always 
want that they should think the truth of themselves, and then 
they easily follow, for it is in accordance with their nature. 
For thee I also wish that thou mayst think the truth, as it con- 
forms with thyself, if thou obeyest that, thou wilt experience 
much that will fully compensate thee." I spoke more with him ; 
several times he said, " Thou askest strange questions, but I 
must always assent to them, for they are true." He honored 
me by many kindly counsels. I have never seen him, nor 
heard of him since, because a few days after he moved 
away, no one knew whither. Many things were spoken of 
him, as though he were an impostor, but I minded it not, 
and held to the words he had said to me, that sun- and moon- 
beams would make me well tasting, although it was wellnigh 
with me as with those, who on awakening knew nothing of it, 
for I could not recollect what I had faithfully resolved to re- 
member. But when thoughts come that enlighten me, then I 
reflect upon this man. I should like to keep them, or write 



100 



GtJNDERODE. 



them down ; but they draw me further on, and in order not 
to give up the next, I must let go the last. So it is that I 
cannot do otherwise ; it must be in the nature of the light, 
that penetrates and nourishes man, that the fresh light al- 
ways supplants the last, like one wave in the stream the 
other. For this reason may it be, that I cannot write a book, 
as Clemens wills; I should have to make an herbarium of 
my thoughts and dry them in order to put them together ; 
meanwhile many a flower would fade, and that will I not. 
As I am centred in thee, so my thoughts fly to thee of them- 
selves, yes, they even step between us, when I am with 
thee. Thou art not like a mortal who would seize and 
hold me ; thou art like the air, the sunbeams pass through 
thee into my soul, so pure art thou. The owl, Miss Salome 
and the wise master at sunset, were a vision of Phil- 
istinedom, in the spirit of which they were assembled. In 
the library to-day, I found a cut stone, that the wooden, var- 
nished fellow G. R. Y., (who looks at the world through a 
spyglass in order to see everything clearer, only that nothing 
passes before his object-lens,) on coming over from Homburg 
to-day, declared to be an antique, or else grandmamma 
would have given it me for thee. Daphne, pursued by 
Apollo, is rooted to the ground in her flight, and transformed 
into a laurel-tree. This answers to thee so well, thou seest 
thy fate before thine eyes. Beloved, pursued, embraced by 
the god of the Muses, and then forevermore putting forth 
golden buds, surrounded by the pure brotherhood of the Poets 
that commune with thee ; that is no Philistinedom. 

Such a lot as that often enclosed a human life like a sacred 
urn, in the time of the Greeks. It is to me as though I spake 
with thy lips. But to-day — but I — my head is like a bar- 
ren field. I wander betwixt hedges, every furrow made use- 
ful ; the lettuce in the middle, the bean-poles above it, and I 
tremble lest I may not be well planted ; I think that the pains 
thou takst with me avail thee nothing. At night I resolve : 
when the sun rises I will learn ; by day I wish night would 
come, that I might be alone and understand myself, I poor, 
tiny Owlet. 

— And founded the great Medo-Persian empire. — There 
we left off, and I drew a great Medusa's head, with wide 
open jaws, in my history-book. I wish it would devour the 
entire ancient history, — Arenswald and all. I was so glad of 



GUXDERODE. 



101 



the Pentecost days — a whole week he stayed away, and I 
had become so nicely weaned from it. The Persians, called 
by the Greeks Cephenes, from Cepheo, the son of Belli, 
whose daughter Andromeda Perseus, the son of Jupiter and 
Dana?, had wedded : I believe the fellow was fibbing, (I 
mean the instructor,) for how could a god-youth be Philister 
enough to wed. However, Arenswald mentions an offspring 
of this union, who ruled over the Cepheo-land, calling it Per- 
sia. Cyrus united it with Media, conquered Babylon, and 
falls in the battle against the queen of the Massageta?. I ask 
no more, who, or whence — how can I keep all those people 
in my head. — 3458, Cambyses conquers Egypt, makes war 
upon the Ethiopians. The Magician Smerdis ascends the 
throne, and could have bewitched the land, but the nobles, too 
asinine to allow themselves to be ruled by a magician, dethrone 
him by murder. — 3462, Darius Hystaspes subdued rebellious 
Babylon, conquered Thrace, Macedonia, India, — his son 
Xerxes overcomes the rebellious Egyptians, carries his army 
into Greece, is conquered, murdered on his way home. Ar- 
taxerxes concludes a peace ; his general rises against him. His 
brother, Xerxes overpowers and subdues him, but Sogdian 
murders his brother Xerxes, and Ochus, his brother Sogdian, 
then rules as Darius II. over Persia. After that the II. Ar- 
taxerxes murders his brother Ochus. and destroys the em- 
pire. But the III. Artaxerxes murders all his brothers ; con- 
quers Egypt. But Togoas murders Artaxerxes III., his 
eldest son JSstes, and, in order to get through at once, 
(remark of the instructor,) the greater part of the royal fam- 
ily. Finally the Satrap murders the last of the royal off- 
spring in Darius Cordmanus. During two hundred and 
twenty-five years this butchery royal of Persia lasted. 
Then Alexander came and ruled over it in 3654. — The in- 
structor sees my vexation at his dry lecture, runs off, and, — 
Heaven knows how it happened, but the door caught his pan- 
taloons, and in his flight he left a piece behind him. Now I 
must indemnify him for his murder-litany, so that he can buy 
a pair of new ones. Clemens importunes that I shall write 
down books and verses, or experiences and recollections of 
the Convent. Here thou hast his letter. The abyss of de- 
cayed history beneath me, the unattainable starry heavens 
above, and at night thoughts that confuse my head. 



102 



GUND ERODE. 



The 10th. 

This morning I read thy letter to grandmamma ; she is al- 
ready so old, she will take all into the grave with her. She 
loves thee dearly, and says thou art the noblest being she has 
ever seen. She spoke of the charm of thy manner, in her 
Suabian dialect, which she always uses when she is cheerful. 
" See maiden how graceful and easy thy friend is, — she is truly 
love-winning." Afterwards I read to her also my letter, and 
she said, "Thou art even a wrong-headed little thing;" 
but gave me the stone with Daphne for thee. I shall 
have it set ; thou must wear it, but not betray from whom it 
comes. How full of pretty tales is thy letter ! only Clemens 
is not my Adam ; that was a bad prophecy that he is not 
to meet me till after one hundred years on the Mount of 
Recognition. I love him so dearly that I cannot play at hide 
and seek with him so long. But perhaps thou art right ; in 
my next letter I will teli it. As for Clemens, I shall throw 
my arms around his neck and kiss him, then he has me as 
I am. 

St. Clair is good, full of heart ; did he not want to journey 
to Homburg, to visit sick Holderlin ! — I would go there 
too. He says it would do Holderlin good, I wish I could, but 
must not. Franz says : Thou art not quite wise ; what, 
wouldst thou go to see a madman ? wilt thou become a 
fool too ? Did I but know how to set about it, I would go. 
If thou wilt go with me, Gunderode, we will tell no one, but 
say we are going to Hanau. We might tell grandmamma, 
she would allow it. I have to day spoken of it to her. I 
told her how he dwelt there by a brook, in a peasant's hut, 
sleeping with open doors, and how for hours he recites Greek 
poems to the murmuring of the water. The princess of Hom- 
burg gave him a grand piano, of which he cut most of the 
strings, so that only a few keys still sound, — on those he 
fantasies. How I would like to go to him, — this madness 
seems so mild, so grand to me ! I know not how the world 
is ; would it be something so unheard of to go and nurse him ? 
St. Clair says to me, " Yes, if you could go to him, he would 
get well ; " and that he is the greatest elegiac poet. Then is 
it not sad that he should be no better cared for, and protected, 
like a holy trust of God, by the nation. He tells me, " The 
spirit is the idea wanting : no one divines him, and knows 



GUXD ERODE. 



103 



what holiness is bidden in the man. I dare not even name 
him in Frankfort, where directly one proclaims the most ter- 
rible things about him, and all because he loved a woman, in 
order to write his Hyperion. People here call loving, 
• wanting to marry/' A great poet becomes transfigured 
through contemplation, he lifts the world up thither where it 
rightly should stand ; if it were not so, we should never become 
aware of those mysteries which are prepared for the spirit. 
You must know that Holderlin's whole madness arises from 
a too delicate organization. Like the Indian bird, that is 
brooded in a flower, so is his soul. And now it is the hardest, 
roughest plaster-wall that surrounds him. That piano, of 
which he rent the chords, is a true image of his soul ; I wanted 
to draw the attention of the physician to it. but it is more dif- 
ficult to make a thing intelligible to a dunce than to a mad- 
man." He told me much more about Holderlin, that went 
deeply to my heart, but I will not repeat it. and several nights 
the longing to go to Horn burg kept me awake. Xow if I 
make a vow to enter a convent, who would forbid it. Di- 
rectly would I make a vow to go to this madman to guard, to 
guide him ; that would be but little sacrifice. I would hold 
converse with him leading me to a fuller knowledge of what 
my soul desires. Yes. surely. I know that the broken, un- 
strung chords of his soul could be made to sound again. 
Still I know I will not be permitted to do it. This is but 
the natural feeling that speaks from the soul, if one would 
but hearken to it. for in every bosom, even the most obdu- 
rate, i> the voice that calls : is Help thy brother ! " This voice 
is not alone suppressed, but even mocked at in those in whom 
it is audible. I want to hear no more about religion and 
Christendom, they have become Christians only to falsify the 
teachings of Christ. To throw crumbs to the hungry and 
rags to the naked, are called works of charity, — but to follow 
Christ into the desert, and learn his wisdom, that no one 
finds time to do. Patches of learning are hung upon one, 
which avail nothing, while for the investigation of the depth 
and power of a human soul, no one has any time. Thinkst 
thou not. that instead of this history-trash, I would have col- 
lected myself with the deepest devotion, and have followed 
him who had to teach others to gain his bread, and went mad 
over it. When I consider the melody of his language — in 
poems of his, St. Clair read to me, that were scattered 



104 



GTJNDERODE. 



through several periodicals — ah ! what a sacred thing is 
speech ! He was leagued with it, it gave up to him the 
wealth of its inmost grace ; not as to Goethe, with uncontested 
sincerity of feeling merely, but by personal identification 
with him. So true indeed that he must have kissed it. Yes, 
so it goes ; he who approaches the gods too nearly, against 
him they turn and thrust him into misery. St. Clair 
gave me the " CEdipus " that Holderlin translated from the 
Greek, and said : that one could understand it so little, or 
would understand it so ill, that the language used was de- 
clared a proof of his insanity ; so little do the Germans com- 
prehend the beauty of their own tongue. Now at his insti- 
gation I have studied this CEdipus ; and I tell thee truly it 
has opened new paths to me, — not of language alone, for that 
flows like melody, absorbing a world of pain and power in its 
expression ; moving the soul, that we must lament with CEdi- 
pus, deeply, deeply. It pierces my soul, and that responds 
to the words. How the sorrows of life wound my spirit, so 
that I feel but now how weak my nature is. Thus I divine, in 
this sympathy with past suffering, what first the keenest emo- 
tions brought to light in the soul of the Greek poet, and now 
by this grief-worn translator brought forth a second time in 
the mother- tongue, carried over with pain, this sacredness of 
woe. Pain-wrung over the thorny paths he brings it ; con- 
secrated blood moistens the footprints of the burdened soul, 
but strong as a hero he bears it over. By this am I nour- 
ished and strengthened. Evenings, when I go to bed, I read 
the Lamentation to Paen, and afterwards sing it from mem- 
ory on the roof of the dove-cot ; then I know I am inspired 
by the Muse, and that she, self-consoled, consoles me. Oh, 
what care I for people ! they may chide my want of logic 
and historic sense, I swear I know not what logic is. I re- 
joice that St. Clair has so much faith in me, that I could 
firmly and successfully raise the standard, beneath which to 
assemble the noble and great. Tell him that I will justify 
his faith, .and exert all my powers. That little letter to 
papa I gave him myself ; he wanted a keepsake from me, in 
return for the CEdipus, so I let him choose among my papers, 
and he preferred that. Here is, the Lamentation dedicated 
to Paen ; see if it makes not thy soul weep. 



GUXDERODE. 



105 



Web ! weh ! weh ! web ! 

Ach ! wohin auf Erden ? 

Io ! Damon ! wo reissest du micb bin ? 

Io! Xachtwolke mein ! du fnrehtbare, — 

Umwogend, unbezahmt, uniiberwaltigt ! 

mir! wie fahrt in mich 

Mit diesen Stacbeln 

Ein Treiben der Uebel ! 

Apollon wars, Apollon, ihr Lieben, 

Der das Wehe vollbracht; 

Hier meine, meine Leiden. 

Ieh Leidender, 

Was sollt icb sebn, 

Dem zu scbauen nicbts siiss war. 

Was bab ich nocb zu sehen and zu lieben, 
Was Freundlicbes zu horenV Ihr Lieben! 
Fiihrt aus dem Orte geschwind mich, 
Fiihrt, ihr Lieben ! den ganz Elenden, 
Den Yernuchtesten, und auch 

Den Gottern verhasst am Meisten, unter den Menschen. 



( Woe ! woe ! woe ! woe ! 
Ah! where to on earth? 
Io, Demon, whither urgest thou me ? 
Io, sombre cloud mine, thou horrorful! 
Encircling, unsubdued, not to be conquered! 
Ah me ! how I am pierced 
With these, these daggers, 
The unrest of evils. 

Apollo it was, Apollo, ye loved ones ! 
Who created the pang, 
These, these tortures. 
I suffer; 

What should I see, 

Whom seeing never was sweet. 

What have I to behold yet, what yet to love, 

What friendly tone to greet me? * Ye loved ones, 

Lead me speedily onward, 

Lead, 0, beloved ones ! the all-forlorn one, 

The most accursed, and most 

Despised by the gods, and most among men.) 

Thus I have placed the lines together in order to sing 
them. This outburst of woe chains me to the path of him 3 
who calls himself iniquitous. 

Wirf aus dem Lande mich so schnell du kannst, 
Wo ich mit Menschen ins Gesprach nicht komme. 

(Thrust from the land me, quickly as thou canst, 
That 1 with men may not in converse meet.) 



106 



GUNDERODE. 



Looking into the distance, to the Taunus bathed in the 
golden light of sunset glowing through the mists, the fleeting 
ones that surround it, there I think must be his tomb, his 
Kithreron, chosen for him by father and mother. Yonder do 
I waft my song ; the breezes play around me, and I know 
that they will bear it over to the grave. What is it to me 
that the weight of ages has rolled over it ; still will my tears 
fall to moisten the grave. Rose not his woe up to me ? But 
to-day did it fill my heart, when I set the words to the God 

— the lamenting ones poured forth to the world — timidly 
to music. And there too dwells he, his loving bosom filled 
with woe, — implanted with the germs of the Poet-god, now 
crushed at their birth — brings them over in sighing tones 
into his mother-land, and warning the melancholy fate of his 
twin brother, in the love, which, out of the abyss of his 
own despair, calls upon him with eager longing, to rest softly 
his weary, melancholy head, together with the fate that has 
bled itself to death. Ah ! he who weds himself to graves, 
can easily become mad among the living. For he dreams by 
day as we dream by night ; but there below in sleep he 
wakes, and goes compassionately hand in hand with these 
who a long time since have been swept from the cares of 
busy day. There falls the dew on his soul which here had 
hardly moisture enough left for sighing. There the seeds be- 
come green of which here the plough of stupidity turns up the 
roots, exposing them to the air, like weeds, while the dewy 
untainted blossom is thrust into the earthy grave. For 
somewhere must the seed sown by the gods receive life, 

— they cannot let the eternal perish. His soul that sleeps 
below, and has confused dreams, sprouts upwards like a 
heavenly vine, entwining the fleeting feet of the god-youths, 
like the fresh grass and flowers, that nod and dance in my 
path, as I pass with rapid step. O poesy, sacred tomb, that 
silently gathers the dust of the soul, and guards it from harm. 
Oh thou ! let him rise again ! let me descend to him, and 
give him my hand in his dream, that he with sacred fingers 
may strew the golden seeds upon my lips, and breathe upon 
me with the breath that he draws at the will of the gods, 
from their bosom ; for longingly I desire to bear in common 
the burdens of the day, and in common to receive consolation 
in the dreams of night. What wilt thou ? blame me not, 
Giinderode, that I speak thus ; follow the thread of my 



t 



GUXDERODE. 



107 



thoughts and thou wilt see that I could not help it. Dost 
thou not suffer with me, that they accuse thee of my folly. 
Want of historic sense, what is it but to mix the traditional 
pain that lies buried in the fable-world with that of to-day. 
They are right in attributing no logic to me ; then would I 
have to forsake him who is given up, and give myself up, 
which would be fruitless. 

Fear not for me, I am not thus every day ; but I just 
came from the dove-cot, where the sun had lighted up the 
blue hills for me where Holderlin sleeps, over the grave of 
CEdipus ; and I sung the song to them in tones to art unac- 
countable, compassing all they could of keen sorrow, and 
smoothing it with the love I poured upon it from my heart 
with my voice, that it might pierce the clouds, — outward 
and upward to the horizon, towering to where the mighty 
Fates yet abide, to mingle with their dark, brackish waters. 
What were the Poets, did they not change the mysterious 
into the godlike ? When song thus bursts only from my 
senses, and not from my consciousness, voices speak from 
within me soon after, that are in unison with nothing else ; 
neither is the tone nor rhythm that I follow. No one would 
want to listen ; but they to whom I sing must hear me, is it 
not so ? I foresee that thou wilt become anxious about me 
again as the year before ! — but thou knowst it is nothing ; I 
do not rave, as the others accuse me, who hold their hands 
on my mouth when I would speak. Be not foolish, let not 
the Philistines frighten thee about my health, after they have 
denied my reason. " He who calleth his brother a fool is in 
danger of hell-fire ; " they are innocent, I am not their broth- 
er, thou art my brother. Once more, I am not ill, do not 
disturb me with a single remonstrance ; I will tell thee still 
more if possible. What wouldst thou have of me, did I not 
learn to give thee my soul naked and bare ? Friendship ! 
what is it but the naked revelation of souls ? bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

Thou pressest my writing-hand that I hardly dare to 
breathe, much less to think ; and lest I might have a voluntary 
thought, I rather do not think at all. Mayst thou feel at the 
end of my letter, that within the narrow confines of my spir- 
itual nature I do not pain thee, so that thy confidence may flow T 
down to me unhindered ; yes, flow down, for I am nothing. 



108 



GUNDERODE. 



Then let me speak healthily to thee, as nothing within thee is 
strange to me ; for to join in thy notes were to interrupt thy 
course. In thy lament over thy history-misere I agree, for 
it wearies me too. In heaven's name buy a pair of pan- 
taloons as a sin-offering, and dismiss thy Arenswald gracious- 
ly. Clemens writes that I owe him an answer ; I did not 
know that he was at Marburg. When thou writest to him, 
send him the enclosure ; he is more than infinitely kind to 
thee. u It is a singular fate that our united efforts to lead her 
to an inner development, or rather to facilitate it, will not 
succeed." So he writes to-day. Among many witticisms, 
dreamy sighings and protestations, it was all that related to 
thee. Because he is always desirous that thou shouldst col- 
lect thy fantastic forebodings, the fable-fragments of thy par- 
allels, and to set down thy world-views in some form ; so I 
like a good bee-master thought to surround thy swarming 
ideas by a flowery meadow, where they need only flit back 
and forth to gather honey. A lucky skipper must have a 
fair wind. I thought thy studies would flow like a fresh 
morning-breeze into thy sails. I wrote to . Clemens to-day 
that it would not do to press thy spirit, and fill the must into 
skins, that it may become clear, palatable wine. Who will 
not enjoy the fruits from the vine, like Lyaeus the Inebriate, 
the son of two mothers — he born of Luna — at last letting 
them ripen, — the defender of the gods, the raging one, - — 
and plants holy trees, utters holy oracles. The bloom of na- 
ture that is breathed over thy being and thy letters, Clemens 
thinks can be harmonized into tales and poems by thee. I 
don't believe it. Self-activity thou hast none, but art rather 
unconsciously led ; out of thy mind all reality flows into mist. 
Human action, human feeling, for that wert thou not born, 
and yet art thou ever ready with unconcern to sway every- 
thing, to adapt thyself everywhere. Ikarus was a careful, 
considerate, searching youth compared with thee ; he at least 
tried to navigate the ocean of light with wings. But thou 
dost not use thy feet to step, thy understanding to compre- 
hend, thy memory not for experience, and that not for influ- 
ence, yet thy armed, storming imagination, before which all 
reality scatters like dust, is arrested in ecstasies before a corn- 
fry. The cluster of rays in the flower-chalice that came in 
thy way on the field-path last Sunday, when thou wouldst fil- 
ter thy abstractions into that retrograde philosopher Ebel was 



GUXDERODE. 



109 



a Scorza nera ; so says the wise master Lehr. I am intimi- 
dated bv thy assertions, scorched by the flame? of thy ex- 
uberance. Here at my writing-table I lose all patience at 
the colorless appearance of my poetical essays, when I think 
of thy Holderlin. Thou canst not compose because thou art 
what poets call " poetical." Matter does not form itself, but is 
formed ; thou seemst to me the clay which a god is moulding 
with his feet ; and what I perceive in thee is the fermenting 
fire that by his transcendent contact he is strongly kneading 
into thee. Let us then leave thee to him who, having mould- 
ed, will also perfect thee. I must form and make myself as 
well as I can. The little poem I send thee for Clemens 
arose from contemplation : there is a truth in Poesy in which 
I have until now always believed, for to single out lovely traits 
and purer views from daily life is not its only mission. We 
require a model according to which we can form our sensu- 
ous nature to a powerful organism, to establish a harmony by 
which the mind will be led to a higher life of deeds, to which 
it is now. as it were, only enticed by Poesy ; for great and 
beautiful deeds are also Poesy, revelation is Poesy. I feel 
and confess to all thou rejoinedst to Ebel on your drive, and 
understand it in thee as thy most essential element, for I 
know thy currents, aud have often been carried away by their 
force, and daily still do I feel the mighty surging of thy 
waves. Thou art as the wild surf, and I am not a good 
helmsman to steer through it. Gladly will I protect thee 
against the demands and constant importunities of Clemens ; 
but even if in my inmost heart dwells firm faith in thee and 
thy good stars, yet from without I am made to tremble and 
shrink fearfully at human laws and the established order of 
things, and still more I tremble at thine own nature. Yes, 
thou raayst chide me : in making my confession unreserved- 
ly, my only thought is, to what will it tend ? Thou wilt 
laugh at me, and so thou canst ; for imbued as thou art with 
electric power, in thy fire without smoke thou hast no idea 
of suffocation. But I — I have nothing to protect me against 
this life-suspending forerunner of fire ; I feel my will power- 
less as soon as thou agitat'st it, still I know that thy nature 
must be so. and not otherwise, else it would not be at all ; for 
thou art only that which is beyond the ordinary limits, invisi- 
ble and unattainable. Else thou art untrue, not thyself, and 
canst only go through life an irony. Sometimes I think I 



110 



GUNDERODE. 



dream when I see thee among the others, who all consider 
thee an unaccountable child, in whom no one seeks or be- 
lieves anything hidden. And thou dost nothing but jump 
upon chairs and tables, hide thyself, and crouch into the 
smallest corners, promenade in the long corridors of the 
house by moonlight, or climb about the old garrets in the 
dark. Then thou comest in again, dreamily wrapt in thy- 
self, yet thou art alive to everything ; is anything desired, 
thou art on the way to fetch it ; when called, thou appear- 
est, even were it from the remotest corner, and for this thou 
art called the house-goblin. All this Marie told me yester- 
day. I went to her to ask if it would do for me to accom- 
pany thee to Homburg. She was very good, and did not 
grudge it thee, and I would gladly have gone. St. Clair 
would have accompanied us, and so I mentioned nothing, but 
that I would like to go to Homburg to see poor Holderlin, and 
take thee with me. But that proved precisely the most ill- 
judged thing I could have done, for now she insisted that I 
should not take thee, as she believed thou must be kept from all 
over-excitement. I could not help laughing at the well-meant 
remark, when Tonie came, and Marie told her. They both 
agreed that thou hadst been very pale in spring, and lookedst 
sickly even now. " No," said Marie, " not sickly, but ghastly ; 
and did I not know that she is the most natural girl, still an 
undeveloped child, who knows nothing of life, I might be led 
to fear she nourished a secret passion. Here in the city she 
only feels at home in the nursery ; she slips away from com- 
pany and from table, goes to the cradle, takes out little Max 
and holds her on her lap for hours, amused at every grimace 
she makes. The child had scarletina; no one came to me, 
she alone sat for hours with the child, and it did her no harm. 
She can endure a great deal ; I have never heard her com- 
plain of headache or anything else. How long she watched 
with Claudine ! no one else could have done it ; I do not think 
she went to bed for a fortnight. In every sick-room she is at 
home, and amuses herself richly where every one else is an- 
noyed. Her whole mind, however, consists in the influence 
of the moment only, for a sensible word I have never heard 
from her. Her greatest pleasure is to startle Franz, and 
every moment she seeks another place to surprise him in. 
The other night she perched herself on one of the bed-posts, 
where I thought she would not be able to stay a moment. 



1 



Gf XDERODE. 



Ill 



Franz did not come for a quarter of an hour, and after he 
was in bed she swung herself down, so that I feared she 
would break her neck, and we could not get her out of the 
room all night." During this account Lotte came, who seri- 
ously asserted that thou wert predisposed to St. Titus' dance; 
thy pallor indicated it, and even in walking thou wouldst 
climb to the most dangerous places. Lately she said, both of 
you were walking in the moonlight, outside the gates, with the 
Canon von Hohenfeld, when thou didst mount the glacis, run- 
ning back and forth, and turning without falling a single time, 
so that even Yon Hohenfeld suggested all could not be quite 
right. Hardly had Lotte finished her story, of which the re- 
frain was always, 4 * Want of historical sense and logic," when 
Ebel entered. He also was consulted about* the journey to 
Homburg. (oh that I had not thrust my hand into that hor- 
net's nest !) and forthwith began a peroration, compassing ev- 
erything in " Xot, for Heaven's sake." Lotte sat in the arm- 
chair, acting as second, interposing at proper intervals, " Not, 
for Heaven's sake, one must be logical." Ebel said, " Insan- 
ity is contagious." 4; Yes," rejoined Lotte. "" especially for 
one so predisposed.'' " Now. Lotte. you are too severe, she 
may be stupid, which is questionable, for she is really neither 
stu; id nor wise, or rather both stupid and wise." Here Ebel 
said. " I must speak as natural philosopher ; she is an entire- 
ly peculiar being that has been charged with too much elec- 
trical matter by nature. She is like a lightning-rod, and 
whoever is near her during a thunder-storm can feel it." For 
it was only on thy account that he jumped from the carriage 
during our last drive, and in thunder, lightning, and a drench- 
ing rain, ran home across the fields, regardless of shoes, hose, 
and his short-sleeved coat. Tonie accused him of it, and he 
acknowledged that it was apprehension lest the thunder-cloud 
might be attracted by thy electric nature. He firmly believes 
that the flash struck so close to the horses, because in thy en- 
thusiasm thou wert emitting so much electricity. Poor friend, 
the rain has shortened his coat-sleeves still more. Lotte in- 
sisted that it was illogical in Ebel to use the word " enthusi- 
asm," because for that a logical cause must be shown, which 
could not be found in thy mind. During this St. Clair also 
came, whom I had appointed to meet me there at the tea- 
hour, to hear how our attempt succeeded. Had we been suc- 
cessful, we would have taken thee by surprise, and called for 



112 



GUNDERODE. 



thee in the carriage. Later Franz and George came up, and 
the matter was laid before them, Lotte urging continually 
that it would be the most illogical thing in the world to let 
thee go, for in spite of thy unwiseness, freakishness, and ut- 
ter want of &c, thou wert still very eccentric, and it was unan- 
imously resolved that thou shouldst not go. Tonie remarked 
that thou hadst been committed to her care more urgently by 
Clemens, and that there would be discord if she gave her 
consent to thy going. I know of one who would have gladly 
throttled them all, and that was St. Clair. He looked se- 
vere, but did not speak, and I saw his lips tremble. No one 
knew how deeply he was interested ; he took his hat and 
went out without saying a word, and I saw the tears rise to 
the eyes of thy champion. 

AN CLEMENS. 

Die Hirten lagen auf der Erde 
Und schlummerten urn Mitternacht. 
Da kam mit freundlicher Geberde 
Em Engel in der Himmelspracht. 
Mit Sonnenglanz war er umgeben, 
Und zu den Hirten neigt er sich; 
Er sprach: " Geboren ist das Leben, 
Euch offenbart der Himmel sich. 
Auch ich lag traumend auf der Erde, 
Ihr dunkler Geist war schwer auf mir, 
Da trat mit freundlicher Geberde 
Die heil'ge Poesie zu mir; 
In ihrem Glanz warst Du verklaret, 
Vertrauet mit der Geisterwelt, 
Den Becher hattest Du geleeret, 
Der dich zu ihrem Bund gesellt. 
Dein Lied war eine Strahlenkrone, 
Die sich um Deine Stirne wand, 
Die Tone eine Lebenssonne 
Erleuchtend der Verheissung Land. 
Der Liebe Reich hab ich gesehen 
In Deiner Dichtung Abendroth ; 
Wie Moses auf des Berges Hohen, 
Als ihm der Herr zu schauen gebot ; 
Er sah das Ziel der Erdenwallen 
Und mochte fiirder nichts mehr sehen. 
Wohin, wohin soli ich noch wallen, 
Da ich das Heilige gesehen? 

TO CLEMENS. 

Shepherds, on the ground reclining, 

Were sleeping in the midst of night, 

There came with friendly mien, and shining, 

An Angel clad in heavenly light. 

With starry splendor all surrounded, 



GUXD ERODE. 



113 



He to the herdsmen then drew near, 
And spake: u 'Tis born that life unbounded. 
Revealed to man is Heaven's sphere. 
I too lay on the ground reclining. 
Its sombre spirit troubled me. 
• Then came with friendly mien and shining, 
The holy genius Poesy. 
I saw thee by her glory chained, 
United with the spirit land; 
For thou her goblet full hast drained 
That made thee member of her band. 
Thy song it was a halo beaming 
That crown-like on thy temples bore; 
Its melody with life-light teeming, 
Illumined' yonder promised shore. 
The realm of Love, I see it now 
In the evening crimson of thy lay; 
As Moses on the mountain's brow, 
Was called to witness and obey. 
He saw the goal toward which to wander, 
And more than that he would not see. 
But where, oh, where, am I to wander 
When the most sacred I did see?" 

TO GUNDERODE. 

I did not think that I should feel so sad these beautiful 
days. In thy letter, line for line, I read nothing sad, and yet 
it makes me heavy-hearted. Thou speakest of thyself as if 
thou wert different from me, very different. Ah, dost thou 
not stand nearest to me among mankind. We did not agree 
in all we discussed ; thou wert of one mind, I of another, 
and yet hast thou ever been my intercessor. Yes, truly, I. 
am not like thee, for I feel it to-day out of every line of thy 
letter, which is so true, and illumines the depth of thy soul. 
What a mystery man yet remains to us, and until all things 
take a heavenly form, how much will remain uncompre- 
hended ? But to be entirely understood, that seems to me 
to be the sole metamorphosis, the true ascension. 

In the little arbor where we first met last year about this 
time, — r already for a year have we been dear friends ???!!! 
Thus could I continue to make signs of astonish- 
ment, of interrogation, of thought, of sighing ; yes, if I knew 
how to make a sign, to indicate shuddering and tears, I would 
mark my pages full of the feelings to which I know not how 
to give expression. The honeysuckle, waving down from 
the trellis, blossoms more luxuriantly this year. Knowest 
thou, that was our first word ? I said to thee : It was a very 
cold winter this vear, and the crow's-foot has frozen most of 
8 



114 



GUNDERODE. 



its branches, so that the arbor affords but little shade. Then 
saidst thou : The sun gives, and the arbor takes ; what light 
it cannot absorb, it lets down upon us. Then further, that the 
plant above us was more properly called Geisblatt (chevere- 
feuille), than crow's-foot, and that then it suggested a pretty 
goat, gracefully eating the spicy flowers, and that Nature 
offered an ideal life to every creature. Just as the elements 
produced life, in undisturbed activity, bare, nourished, and 
completed it, so there was again prepared in the enjoyment 
of this uninterrupted development an element in which the 
soul's ideal could thrive, bloom, and complete itself; also, 
thou saidst, too, that I should clothe myself in white for the 
sake of Nature, who was sending forth so many bright flowers 
around us, that a dress with printed flowers were tasteless ; 
that we must desire to live in harmony with Nature, or else 
the bud of the human soul could not open. I thought awhile 
of thy words, and we both were silent. It was my turn to 
answer, but 1 did not dare to ; thou seemedst to me so full 
of wisdom, and thy thoughts appeared so to blend with Na- 
ture, and thy spirit to tower above men like blossoming tree- 
trops .which in sunshine, wind, and rain, by day and night, 
forever strive upwards. Indeed thou wast to me like a 
grand tree, inhabited and nourished by the spirits of Nature. 
When I at last heard my voice that would answer thee, I 
was ashamed as though its tone were not refined enough for 
thy ear. I could not say what I tried to ; thou wouldst help 
me and saidst: The spirit flows into our sensibilities, and 
these arise from everything that Nature produces. Man 
deeply reverences Nature, because she is the mother who 
nourishes the soul with the impressions she gives it. How 
much did I think of thee and thy words, of the black lashes 
that shaded thy blue eye, as I saw thee for the first time ; of 
thy kindly mien, and thy hand that stroked my hair. 

I wrote down : " To-day I saw Giinderode ; it was a gift 
of God." To-day, as I read it again, I would gladly do 
everything for love of thee. Yet thou hadst better not tell 
me if thou art loving to others also. That means : be with 
others as thou wilt, only do not let it concern us. We must 
retire into Nature ; there must we walk hand in hand, speak- 
ing to each other, not of things, but a great language. My 
studying will not succeed ; I have no use for it. Why shall 
I learn what others know already? that will never be lost; 



GT7XD ERODE. 



115 



but that which happens just for our sake, that would I not 
miss experiencing with thee. And then with thee I would 
also strip off all superfluous workfs-dross, for in reality all 
proprieties are a heaven-crying injustice, against the voice of 
poesy within us, that guides the soul to right. That civility 
which is always bowing before others, approaching without 
coming into any contact, disgusts me ; just as though it were 
uncivil to avoid those who do not concern us. Were Nature 
so intriguing, contrary, and unwise,, as men are, not even a 
potato could ripen, much less a tree blossom. All this is only 
the consequence of Nature's generosity, of which each ear of 
corn, with its wealth of grains, gives proof. Narrow-heart- 
edness will never burst its seeds to the light ;« they will be 
blighted. Now I begin to feel for what I am here. Each 
morning I pray when I awake, " Kind God, wherefore was 
I born ? " and now I know it. — Therefore, that I may not 
be as unwise as the others, that I shall walk the clear path 
marked out in my heart ; for why would the finger of God 
have impressed it there, and have taken my five senses into 
his teaching, that I might learn to spell him out, were it not 
that I should follow that path ? Yes, we must exact wisdom 
from man, and point it out as the simple path of Nature. 
But the denial of a great and powerful world-mind within 
us is always the consequence of our social relations to others. 
They cling so that one cannot draw a free breath, cannot think 
nobly, nor do great actions, for' sheer courtesy and morality. 
Great deeds, for those truly no merit is due ; they would be 
done of themselves if life were conducted naturally. It is 
shameful how much men cover with the name of generosity, 
as if a progressive, active life did not of itself emit the elec- 
tric fire, that one calls great deeds. The grovelling tribe of 
man chatter like magpies ; they understand not the sighings 
of love. I must say this, because the nightingales are sigh- 
ing so sweetly above me. There are four of them ; last year 
there were four too. Ah, to love, I do not think I ever shall. 
I should be ashamed before those nightingales, that I cannot 
do it as they can. How they breathe their souls into the art 
of transport, into the music, and in a tone so pure, so inno- 
cent, yet true and deep. No human being could approach 
such expression, either by voice or instrument. Why is it 
that man must learn to sing, while the nightingale under- 
stands to sing to the heart so purely, faultlessly? 1 have not 



116 



GUNDERODE. 



yet heard a song from human kind that has touched me as 
that of the nightingale. Just now I thought as I was listen- 
ing to them so intently, if they would not listen to me when 
they made a pause. Hardly did I raise my voice, when all 
four burst forth together, as if they would say, do not invade 
our realm. Arias, opera-music are as wrong motives in the 
moral world ; it is the declamation of a false inspiration. 
Yet man is carried away by sublime music, even if he is not 
sublime himself ; that is the hidden will in the soul to become 
great. 

How it refreshes the soul, like dew, to hear one's own 
genius speak in its primeval tongue. Not so ? — Oh, we too 
would be like those tones that are so rapidly approaching 
their goal without wavering ; there they compass the fulness, 
and bear in every rhythm a soul-born secret ; not so does 
man. Certainly melodies are God-born beings, that live on 
in themselves. Man does not beget thought, but thought 
begets man. Ah, ah, ah ! there a linden blossom falls on 
to my nose, and it rains a little. What nonsense I am writ- 
ing down ; one can hardly read it, the twilight has deepened 
so. How beautifully Nature spreads her veil, so lightly, so 
transparently ; now the flower-souls begin to roam abroad, 
from the orange-trees in the Boskett, and the linden odors 
come streaming, wave on wave. Night sets in already — the 
nightingales are becoming eager ; they warble in the moonlit 
silence. 

Ah, we will do something very great ; we will not have 
met in vain in this world. — Let us found a religion for 
humanity in which it shall become again an existence with 
God, — thy Mahomet accomplished it with a few excursions 
to heaven, — Let us make a little pleasure-trip to heaven ! 

TO GUND ERODE. 

Yesterday I forgot to write to thee that I sent thy poem to 
Clemens, after first copying it for myself. I wanted also to 
tell thee how beautiful I found it, but out of gratitude that I 
have thee for a friend, I forgot it ; still thou seest reflected, 
in my letter, that it is thy great heart which touches me, and 
that I am not worthy to unloose the latchet of thy shoe. 
Thou choosest a beautiful thought, and weavest out of it in 
rhymes a robe of honor for Clemens. Ah, what a beautiful 
gift thou hast ; thou liftest thy spirit up out of this earthly 



GUND ERODE. 



117 



life. — God created the world out of nothing, the Nuns used 
to preach ; and I always asked how that was done i they could 
not tell me, and desired me to be silent. But I went about 
looking at all the plants, as if I must find out from what 
they were created. Now I know it ; he did not create them 
out of nothing ; he created them out of the spirit, — that I 
learn from the Poet ; from thee, God is a Poet — yes — thus 
I comprehend him. ) To-day I read to grandmamma from 
Hemsterhuis. Choeseil says : " II faut que Dieu ait la figure 
de l'liomme comme il l'a cree d'apres son image." D'Allaris 
says : M C'est fort singulier monsieur de se figurer la figure de 
Dieu avec un visage humain, comme celui la est fait pour des 
besoins et des fonctions terrestres auquelles Dieu ne doit avoir 
aucun raport, en raison de sa force, et de son grand courage 
le monde entiere devrait s'en aller en poussiere si par example 
le bon Dieu s'amusait une seule foi a eternuer de bon coeur." 
If God created man after his own image, then I understand 
this so : God has an individuality, only comprehended by 
himself, as he stands single and unattainable. But as a Poet 
his individuality vanishes, and is merged in 'the invention of 
his productions. Thus God " is and is not individual. The 
Poet illustrates this, — he is individual, and is not, even after 
God's own image, for he creates with the spirit that which 
lies entirely beyond our sensuous existence, and yet it is sen- 
suous, for it can be comprehended by the senses, that feel 
themselves cherished and nourished by it, and as the nourish- 
ment of the senses is but their higher development, so the 
poet-like God resolves his individuality through his thoughts 
into a higher form, moulding himself upward to a higher de- 
velopment. What do I tell thee here ? Ah ! I understood 
for a moment what God is, as though I could read it in the 
clouds, when looking up at the sky. I saw how the moon 
slipped from behind them, which di>persed my thoughts, the 
words up there in which it was contained melted away, so 
that I had to say it in others, and it is not exactly as I mean 
it. Ah, indeed, God will not allow himself to be caught ; I 
thought already I held him. [But this have I comprehended, h, JJ ] 
that God is poesy ; that man being created after his own im- / 
age, is consequently a Poet also. " Many are called, but few 
are chosen;" this to my sorrow have I discovered within 
myself. Still I am a Poet, although I cannot make a rhyme. 



118 



GUND ERODE. 



I feel it in the free air when I wander in the woods, up the 
hills ; then moves a rhythm in my soul with which my thoughts 
must flow in accordance, and my moods change in time. But 
when I am among people, and allow myself to be carried 
away by their time or metre, which is like that of the vulgar 
street ballad, I feel very insignificant, and know nothing but 
nonsense. 

Dost thou not find too, that stupid persons make one feel 
far more stupid than one really is ? They who say that I am 
foolish are not quite wrong. But heart, thou that under- 
stands! me, come to me and I will give thee a feast that will 
honor thee. But now listen further. All great deeds are 
poesy, the metamorphosis of the individual into deity ; but 
that deed is not poesy which is not great. Great is every- 
thing that is compassed by the light of reason. That is to 
say, all things, comprehended in their true sense, must be 
great, and certain it is, that each such thought must have its 
root planted in the soil of wisdom, and bear a flower which 
blooms in divine light, to emerge from the soul's depth, after 
God's image, upward, beyond to the source of our being. I 
am right, am I not ? And if it is true that man can be thus, 
why should he be otherwise ? I understand it not that all 
men are so different from what they could so easily be. They 
cling to that which they should not regard, and despise that 
to which they should cling. I feel a longing within me to be 
free from all these failings — to descend into the bath and 
purify myself from errors. All the world seems to me in- 
sane ; I rush along with the rest, and yet I hear a voice 
within me that teaches me better. Do let us found a relig- 
ion, thee and me, and let us dwell meanwhile as priest and 
layman in it, all by ourselves, living strictly according to its 
precepts, developing its laws, as a young prince once devel- 
oped himself who was to become the greatest ruler of the 
world. Thus it happened that he became a hero, who by 
his will subdued all his failings, and aroused the whole 
world so that it became better. I believe, too, that God has 
only created races of kings that man may be placed before man 
conspicuously in order to see and know himself. As the king 
has power over all, men who watch his public actions see 
how evil, or if his deeds are good, how great he himself 
can be. ' Then, too, a king is so placed that he can succeed 



GUXD ERODE. 



110 



where no one else can : and a talented ruler will by force 
carry his people to that point, to which without kira it would 
never have attained. Thus we must frame our religion en- 
tirely for the youthful sovereign. Ah. wait : now I have 
found my way. and can go on better. I pray thee lend thy 
heart to sympathize with me a little ; it invigorates me thus 
out of nothing to draw thought like God. for I too am a 
Poet. 

I picture to myself the delight of considering all this with 
thee. Then we will wander up and down in grandmamma's 
beautiful garden or in the Bo-kett. where there are dark, shady 
paths to muse in. and then discourse, when in the evening I 
will write it down and send it to town to thee by the Jew. 
and thou canst afterwards arrange it poetically, so that in fu- 
ture when men find it they may feel more reverence and 
belief in it. It seems a jest, but do not take it as one. I 
am serious : for why should we not consider together the 
welfare and necessities of mankind ? Why. then, have we 
thought of so much already that others have not considered, 
but that it should bear fruits for mankind ? Can we not ex- 
pect that all which sprouts forth from the earth as well as the 
spirit will ultimately bear fruit ? I do not therefore see why 
we should not. with tolerable certainty, count on a good har- 
vest that will benefit man. Ah. humanity, poor humanity ! 
caught in a net like an ignis-fafuus. it is dim and muddy. Oh. 
I do not sleep any more : good-night. It just occurs to me 
that our religion shall be called the Hovering-religion. and I 
will tell thee about that to-morrow. But one law of our re- 
ligion I must place before thy consideration directly, and that 
a fundamental law : namely, man shall always do the great- 
est deeds, and no others ; and here I anticipate thee and say. 
that all actions can and must be great. Ah. forsooth, I see the 
clouds of dust already that we will raise when we once hold 
our councils. " Who prays not. thinks not : " that I will have 
written into the earthen dish out of which our disciples shall 
eat : and in another. *• Who thinks not, learns not to pray." 
The Jew comes, and I must hurriedly push our mundane sub- 
version into the bag:. We should also be able to say. like the 
old nun at Fri tzlarj " What wonderful instruments the Lord 
employs for the furtherance of his ultimate ends ! " If thou 
see^t St. Clair give him my greeting. 



120 



GIJND ERODE. 



TO BETTINE. 

Or rather we can say, thinking is praying, and so do some 
good immediately ; by thinking while praying, and praying 
while thinking, we save time. Thou talkest unrhymed things, 
and art extremely cunning in thinking I shall rhyme them. 
Thy projects are always very hazardous ; thou art like 
a rope-dancer who relies on his balancing-pole, or like one 
with wings who knows he can spread them in a gale, and be 
carried upward from his height. On the whole, I understand 
well, notwithstanding the praise thou strewest like sweet sac- 
rificial herbs, that I am the offering which thou hast selected 
for sacrifice. I know thou art right, and that I am too timid 
and cannot defend that which in myself I recognize to be 
right against arguments drawn from untruth. I grow mute 
and stand abashed where others ought to be so, and this feel- 
ing is so extreme, that I ask forgiveness of the very persons 
who have done me wrong, for fear they might perceive it. 
Thus, for instance, I cannot endure that any one should think 
I doubted them ; I rather childishly laugh at all their re- 
joinders. I cannot bear that those to whom I cannot convey 
a higher conviction should entertain the illusion as though I 
were wiser than they. If two are to understand each other, 
it requires the life-inspiring influence of a third divine one. 
Thus I accept our mutual existence as a gift of the gods, in 
which they themselves play the happiest part. But to ex- 
pose my inmost experience to unconclusive assertions, — for 
that neither blue-eyed Minerva, nor Areus, the warlike, will 
lend their aid. 

I agree with thee that it would be better if I could bear 
myself more manfully, and not allow this mighty world-mind 
to be subdued by my social relations to others. But what 
wilt thou do with one so timorous, who is still afraid to say 
grace loud enough at table ? Bear with me, and leave me 
as I am. If I have not the heart to raise my voice against 
all nonsense, so have I not allowed the smallest wave of thy 
gushing life-floods to break itself against this hard rock. It 
stands dry and untouched by thy holy inspirations, and thou 
canst, unconcerned about it, let thy life flow on. I know it 
pained thee that we could not visit Holderlin. St. Clair left 
yesterday ; he was with me before he went, and saw thy thick 
letter. He longed so to, hear something out of it, that the 



GUXDEEODE. 



121 



Timorous One, reiving on her good feeling, was emboldened 
to read him that part in which Bettine speaks of- the (Edipus. 
He wanted to copy it, he must copy it or his soul would have 
languished ; so the Timorous One was too powerless to deny 
it him. I must read it to him : perhaps it will be like a bal- 
sam to his soul ; if not, still the highest exaltation excited by 
his poet-nature must echo in him, as he too found an echo. I 
must read it to him : it will at least win a smile. Xow see 
me again full of fear lest my boldness should displease thee; 
and yet, did not my ear betray me. that hymn on the dove- 
cot was sung to the poor Poet, that it might blend with the 
music of his broken chords. 

I am just now so much troubled by company ; already a 
second time this week must I creep into the black robe of 
our order, and in that, too, I am followed by my queer timid- 
ity : I seem so strange to myself in it, and it strikes me as 
unusual to support a borrowed dignity publicly, so that I al- 
ways hang my head and look askance when I am addressed. 
Yesterday we dined at the Primate's in corpore, and I 
dropped my cross ? it fell under my chair, where I felt it 
with the point of my foot, which confused me very much ; 
just think, the Primate himself picked it up and asked per- 
mission to fasten it on my shoulder : at this our duenna came 
and took the trouble upon herself, thank Heaven. 

Tin- affair kept me awake all night, and I must still blush 
when I think of it. I called to see Mad. Haiden. — met 
Moritz in the cabriolet, — from there I went to the theatre, 
and into your box. George took me in. Die Geschwister.* 
— The house was very empty on account of the heat. The 
Frau Ratht alone sat on my side, and called upon the stage 
u Herr Verdy, play your best, I am here," which embarrassed 
me very much ; had he answered, a conversation would have 
ensued, in which finally I must have taken part. There 
were not fifty persons in the parquet. Verdy really played 
very well, but the Frau Rath applauded every scene so that 
it rang again, and Verdy bowed profoundly to her. It was 
strange to see the empty house, with the box-doors all open 
on account of the heat, and daylight straggling in ; a draught 
blew through, and played with the flimsy decorations, when 

* Name of the play, — A drama by Goethe. 

t Alludes to Goethe's mother, who was according to German custom 
called by the title of her husband, Rath or Councillor. 



122 



GUND ERODE. 



Mad. Goethe called to Verdy : " Ah, that is a splendid 
breeze," and fanned herself ; and it seemed as if she had a 
part in the play, and the two on the stage were only engaged 
in a confidential, domestic chat. Meanwhile I thought of our 
greatest Poet, who did not disdain, so unassumingly to ex- 
press his profound nature. Yes, you may be right, there is 
something grand in it, and it was fearful, and tragic in conse- 
quence, this emptiness, this silence, the open doors, and that 
single mother full of rejoicing, as though her son had built her 
the throne on which she, supremely elevated above all mun- 
dane things, received the homage of Art. They did play very 
well, too, even with inspiration, and only on account of the Frau 
Rath ; she knows how to command respect. At the close she 
called out loudly, that she was obliged, and would write to her 
son. After this a conversation began to which the audience 
was quite as attentive, but which I did not stay to hear, as I 
was called foi\J To-morrow it will probably be all over town. 

I do not feel well, else I should have been over to-day, so 
does thy letter interest me. Thou hoverest at the pinnacle of 
life, and like the newly fledged, lookest out directly how best 
to steer towards the sun, and as easily dost thou descend 
again. If I am well I will yet come this week. I believe 
the fear of being bled makes me sick ; I cannot become recon- 
ciled to it, and when I think I must shed blood, it makes me 
ill. Do write me to-day about thy Hovering-religion, what 
it means, that I may have something to think and ponder over, 
as I cannot do anything, and must keep my room. 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

O do not allow thyself to be bled for a thousand reasons, 
for (perhaps) : if a person has been bled but once, he can never 
become a soldier, a hero ! One can never know what changes 
such an infringement on nature can bring about in the human 
mind, and what capacities are thus lost. I beg of thee do 
not let thyself be bled. In the Convent, when the day came, 
where the little phlebotomy man was marked in the calendar, 
I believe it was in the hot season just as it is now ; then all 
the Nuns were bled from the left foot. At that time a chi- 
rurgeon came, at whose ugliness I was always lost in aston- 
ishment. His name was Herr Has. An old Nun once said, 
that in the small-pox pits of his face, containing a consider- 



GUXD ERODE. 



123 



able earthy deposit, one could sow cress-seed, and he would 
have a green beard. After that I always kept- cress-seed on 
hand, and watched for an opportunity to sow it ; and I did 
finally take advantage of a moment when he had dropped 
asleep, waiting for the Nuns. Thou mayst believe it or not, 
but the cresses found a thriving soil and began to sprout 
vigorously, and he needed now only to be rubbed with vine- 
gar and oil, to make an excellent salad. But thou dost not 
believe that, dost? — Xow listen. — it just occurs to me : do 
eat a good dish of salad, that cools the blood ; but if during an 
inflammation thou lose blood, that must increase it ; for, if 
thou hast a pot of boiling water, and pour part of it away, the 
rest will only boil the harder. The cocks are crowing, it is 
past midnight, so now I will go on writing till to-morrow 
morning, that thou wilt have enough to read on thy sick-bed; 
about the new religion I will speak directly, but first I must 
tell thee something. When the Jew came with thy letter it 
was four o'clock, and I was thinking of something that would 
be good for thee, when directly the apricots in grandmamma's 
garden came into my mind, and how nice they would be for 
thee. So I went round the trees spying out the best, till I 
got by heart where they all hung, and promenaded repeating 
my lesson till sundown, as by daylight I could not steal them, 
so had to wait till all were seated at cards. It was the great- 
est pleasure to steal these apricots ; in the first place the 
fear was quite amusing, my heart beat so quickly that I 
laughed for joy ; there is something agreeable in feeling the 
heart beat : and then it seemed too as if they liked being 
stolen, for they dropped right into my hand ; I had tied a 
cloth round my neck into which I threw them, twenty! — I 
was very glad when I had them all, and safely conveyed them 
to my room, where I wrapped them in young vine-leaves of 
the second growth, that have such soft, velvety down on 
one side. There they all are, and look at me from the box, 
as if desirous of being tasted by my lips ; but that will not do ; 
they are for thee, and must forego being eaten by me. Eat 
them, Gunderode, they are good ; God has created them 
purposely for inflammation, so that it shall return to the 
spirit, from which it has only infused itself into the blood. 
Do not allow thyself to be bled, for I have a presentiment, 
as if something in man were destroyed by it ; perhaps real 
heroism ; who knows but what a man who has been bled 



124 



GUND ERODE. 



once, has not robbed his posterity of courage, and that this is 
the reason why this virtue is so rare. The little phlebotomy 
man is the Evil One, who has crept into the calendar in 
order to cheat man out of the only thing with which he can 
resist him, out of the steel in the blood which is infused into 
the spirit, to make it firm in accomplishing what it will. Wis- 
dom and bravery ! man clamors for wisdom, but has not the 
courage to support it; one is dependent on the other, for 
where courage exists for it, wisdom will come too. It is, not 
possible, that if the power exists in the soul to achieve the 
greatest, the seed of wisdom should not also blossom, which 
teaches the highest aim. For instance, he who has the courage 
to despise mere wealth, will soon have the wisdom to recog- 
nize the perversion arising from that cruel prejudice, and how 
poor, how very poor are wealth and power ! Ah, in our re- 
ligion courage shall stand first, and if we are ever watchful to 
exercise it in doing what is great, and disregard prejudice — 
then will from every deed arise a higher understanding, pre- 
paring us for the next, and we will soon prove things in 
which as yet no one has faith. For instance ; one cannot 
live on air ! — why ! it is an assertion made by the Devil to 
fetter man to the slave-chain of Gain, that he cannot live on 
air, and must seek to acquire. He who acquires much, can- 
not find time to wed for sheer labor. 

Yet we live on air alone, for is not all that nourishes us 
nourished by air ? and is it not the first condition of our life 
to breathe ? 

By this God expresses : Thou sharest the air with all, 
then share also thy life with all. 

Who knows how much Nature may yet alter, and assimi- 
late more with the spirit, so that the soul, more governed by 
it, will require more air, and less other substance ? All silly 
thoughts, desires, and vain fancies create an appetite for ani- 
mal food. I know, by myself, that when anything flashes 
through my mind, which I must follow up from a presenti- 
ment that it contains the vital air, then I have no appetite. 
Frenchmen, when they are witty, are said to have an appe- 
tite for something piquant or spicy ; it would then depend 
very much on the mind if in the end we did not prefer to 
live on air. And our grace at table shall be : Lord, I eat in 
the faith that it nourisheth me. All the old bills of fare, 
roasting spits, and baking traditions, we will thrust into the 



GfXDERODE. 



125 



Devil's kitchen, that be may break bis neck, for we have no 
time to waste over them. Go to thy neighbor and ask for 
bread, break a fruit from the tree, and partake of the sacri- 
ficial feast a little, not permitting wants at this or that hour 
to become fixed in thee, or other habits which make thee 
physically dependent. Here something occurs to me about 
the everlasting draught or night-air. Every moment we 
hear there's a draught, and then people run as if death were 
at their heels ; then the night-wind hinders them from enjoy- 
ing nature by night, or the dew is dangerous ; and yet, — has 
one ever heard that in battle a hero has fled from the night- 
dew ? Therefore, to be above taking cold by sun and moon- 
shine, our own masters, must be a law of. our Hoverinsr- 
religion. 

I don't know, still I have a presentiment as if we would 
yet stumble on to great discoveries. For the present, we 
have already discovered that we must not be bled, in order 
that the steel in the blood, which engenders courage, may not 
be drained. One might urge that from a wound received 
in battle, this steel of the spirit would also escape, so 
that a brave man becomes a coward, — but this is not so, 
because, from a wound received in inspiration, the very blood 
breathes forth immortality. TThen the virtue (courage) is 
awake in man, that is : if the Genius goes over into the 
blood, and fighting, faces the wound it is to receive, then 
courage is so paramount that no servile escape can take 
place, as at that moment all the steel in the blood has entered 
the spirit. — for as God eternally produces with every breath, 
being all wisdom, so does Genius always produce, because it 
is connected with God's electric chain, constantly receiving 
its shocks and communicating them to the blood. I pray thee 
how wilt thou otherwise explain the electric power, but that 
Nature, thrilled by the spirit of God, enters the blood ; when 
in man it again finds its way into inspiration, because he has 
mind. — And behold ! power receives the flash, and thus wis- 
dom and courage are begotten together. What did I say in 
my last letter, that God is poesy ? and to-day I say that he 
is wisdom. This is an old story ; I believe the Fathers of 
the church have long since established it, and therefore have 
great reverence for God. To-day we have discovered that 
God is the great electric power rushing through Nature, and 
into the blood, where it again appears as Genius in the souls 



126 



GUND ERODE. 



of men. Genius arises from the steel in the blood, to which 
it returns, when the senses are active. He who has no steel 
in his blood cannot conceive of God in this wise. It is already 
three o'clock, and if I were to write on, I should come across 
all sorts of curious things, at which I should be astonished 
myself. 

I ought to go to sleep, but will give thee thinking enough 
to do for a whole day, because thou art alone. Thou didst 
write me that Moritz met thee in the cabriolet ; I am much 
obliged ; but as I have made a vow, for the fortnight I am 
still to remain here, I can give no ear to thy admonitions ; 
tell him so when thou seest him. Bernhard's gardener is a 
young, slender man, with a finely curved nose, black hair, 
black lashes and blue eyes, and a sweet voice, at least when 
he speaks to me, for when he restrained the dog the other 
day that barked at me, he used it vigorously. It will seem 
strange to Moritz, but it is no wall of separation to me, 
because he is overlooked by the educated classes. A man of 
a good race must show it, even in a slave's garb ; this proves 
the impurity of our established nobility ; for truly the best 
blood is scattered through the world, only it runs unstamped, 
and yet that alone is allowed to pass which is stamped. But 
this I tell thee, I do not consider any one noble whose race 
cannot be recognized even in the peasant's garb. — Well 
then, the gardener, who always gives me. work early in the 
morning, thou knowest, — I have cut the faded china-pinks 
from the beds for him ; I have transplanted strawberries, 
pruned the vines, tied up the honeysuckle, and propped the 
peaches, taken slips from the carnations, and picked the 
parasites from the melon- vines, besides many other things 
that I always helped him do early in the morning, when 
I ran to the Maine terrace, to compose and write for 
Clemens, and could not do it, because nothing would come 
into my head, as Nature is far too grand to permit one to 
think in her presence ; so I preferred to pick pease with the 
gardener, rather than stand on the watch for great thoughts. 
There the gardener always presented me with a nosegay ; at 
first very handsome and full, with rare flowers, then smaller 
and simpler ; I thought it was because I came every day, 
and was too much, but at last, on the same day that I picked 
the sugar-pease, he gave me a rose and 

In the morning, I thought about it till I fell asleep. The 



GUXD ERODE. 



127 



rose I took to bed with me. Why should I let it slowly fade 
in a glass ? — one ought to carry about a talisman of Nature 
everywhere ; it will keep us free from evil. Who would not 
be filled with noble thoughts in the presence of a rose ? I 
love it, the sweet rose with which I slept ; it pined, but since 
I placed it in water, it is reviving. — I am so stupid, and 
write such silly things. — The poor gardener ! 

TO GUXDERODE. 

The Jew came this morning at five, and said he had deliv- 
ered the letter at the Convent, without hearing anything about 
thee ; the great ass had to run round like a greyhound to- 
day to purchase paradise-apples for the Feast of the Taber- 
nacles, so that he had no time to wait. The fellow looked 
very queer with the long palm-branches straggling out of his 
bag and waving over his head. With one hand he had hold 
of his long beard, and with the other of his long staff, placing 
it far before him, constantly swearing by his beard, and 
panting under his load. It amused me to look at him, so I 
let him stand awhile ; it was a picture for any one who could 
paint it. This time, then, my religion-despatches could not 
reach thee on account of the Tabernacle affair — if thou art 
only well again ! This evening I had to walk with grand- 
mamma by the canal in the moonlight. She told me about 
her youth, when she and grandpapa still lived at Wart- 
hausen with old Stadion, and how he loved grandpapa more 
than his other sons, bringing him up strangely, but with great 
care. When he was a youth of scarcely eighteen, he caused 
him to carry on a great and wide-spread political correspon- 
dence ; he gave him letters from emperors and kings, from all 
the regents and dignitaries of state of every grade to answer. 
There came transactions in every branch of government : 
commerce, navigation, old claims, new demands, division of 
lands, treason, conspiracies, imprisonment of great persons, 
church affairs, monastic endowments, finances, in fine, every 
kind of transaction which a great minister of state has to 
negotiate and arrange, — all this Stadion discussed with him, 
causing him to express his opinion about it, to write treatises 
on these subjects, which, after adding his own suggestions, 
he made him copy over. He wrote letters to different po- 
tentates, particularly a correspondence with Maria Theresa ; 
first about her accession to the throne and the co-regency of 



128 



GtJNDERODE. 



the royal consort ; then about the empty treasury, the military 
resources of the country, the displeasure of the people, the 
claims of Bavaria on the Austrian crown-lands, and the refusal 
of the Electors to acknowledge the right of heritage ; about the 
war of Frederic II. with England ; proposals for a loan ; let- 
ters to a French general Belle- Isle, to Cardinal Fleuri, to the 
Austrian Field-marshal Prince Lobkowitz, and lastly a cor- 
respondence with the Marquise de Pompadour, in the interest 
of the empress. This correspondence was at first gallant, then 
tender; letters with madrigals came, in answer to which grand- 
papa again had to reply in French poetry in Stadion's name. 
Over these she said grandpapa bit up many a pen, and Stadion 
taught him to interweave politics with allusions to charms, to 
blond and brown locks, — which Stadion often did not find ten- 
der enough. The answers were then communicated w T ith great 
pleasure by Stadion, especially if they expressed any sensi- 
bility for grandpapa's gallantries ; this made Stadion laugh 
very much, and he showed him how the extremest delicacy 
was always to be observed. And at last, when after the ac- 
cession and coronation of Maria Theresa the congratulations 
had been despatched, Stadion gave Laroche a writing-table, 
which he found to contain all his own letters written during 
three years, still sealed, that he believed to have been sent 
over land and sea, besides the answers invented by Stadion 
himself, who told him that by this means he had wished to 
make a statesman of him. At first grandpapa was very much 
shocked ; but afterwards he was deeply touched, and pre- 
served them as a sacred memorial of Stadion's great and ten- 
der mind. Grandmamma has all these letters^ and promised 
to give them to me. She was very talkative to-day, and be- 
comes more tender towards me daily. She says she likes to 
talk to me, although many things are difficult to recall. She 
spoke much of mamma, of her grace and refinement of heart, 
and says, " All that you children share among you of beauty 
and mind, your mother united in herself." Then she wept 
much, and could say no more, for the tears choked her utter- 
ance. She had placed her hand on my head when she spoke, and 
the moon coming from behind a cloud, she said, " How beau- 
tifully the moonlight rests on thee ! it were a lovely picture 
to paint," — and at that moment I had the same thought of 
grandmamma. It was strange to see her standing under a 
great chestnut-tree opposite me, by the canal in which the 



GUNDERODE. 129 

moon was reflected, with her thick white curls and black 
robe of gros-de-tour with its long train, and made after the 
fashion of her youth, with a long waist and broad girdle. Ei, 
how refined is grandmamma ; every one seems common com- 
pared with her. People reproach her with sensitiveness ; that 
does not disturb me ; on the contrary, it finds an echo in me. 
Even if I have sometimes laughed with others at what 
seemed too strange, yet I mostly feel a truth in all she says. 
When walking in the garden, she bends all the vines where 
they seem inclined to twine ; she cannot bear disorder, nor 
faded leaves, and daily I must cut out the dead flowers. Yes- 
terday she was occupied for a long time at the honeysuckle 
arbor, and said to every twig, " Little branch, where wilt 
thou go ? " Then she gently twined everything together, ty- 
ing it loosely with red silk, so that not a leaf should be 
crushed ; everything must have room to breathe, she says. 
This morning I brought her some red and white bean-blos- 
soms, because yesterday I read her a scene from her novel 
in which they played a part ; she found them by her break- 
fast-plate. She spoke of the ruby-red of the blossoms, held 
them up towards the light, and was pleased at the glow. I 
like to have her chat thus. I told her she seemed to me like 
a child who saw everything for the first time. " What then 
shall I be but a child ; are not all the distractions of life now 
past which came in the way of the childlike mind ? Thus 
human life describes a circle, and shows even here that it is 
assigned to eternity. Now that my life is completing itself 
with all the good that Heaven has granted, — so many blos- 
soms have faded for me, so many fruits ripened ; now that 
the leaves are falling, the spirit prepares itself for fresh 
shoots in the next sphere of life, and there thy forebodings 
may be right." Ah, Gunderode, I too will become a child 
again before I die, moving in a circle, and, not as thou, desire 
to die early. No, I wish not that ; for where is it fairer 
than on the beautiful earth, and for a child to be where it is 
fairest, over to where the sun sets ? Grandmamma also told 
me another pretty tale, which I will write down here because 
I do not wish to forget it, about the father of Stadion. He 
possessed a lion that was said to be so tame that it slept by 
his bedside at night. One morning he was awakened be- 
cause the lion was licking his hand so hard that it drew blood 
with its rough tongue ; the lion seemed to like the blood and 
9 



130 



GUNDERODE. 



Stadion, who did not dare to withdraw his hand, reached a 
pistol with the other, that hung over the bed, and shot the 
lion through the head with it. When on hearing the noise 
his people rushed to their master's room, Stadion leaned over 
the dead lion, gazing at him with rigid eyes, and with a loud 
cry exclaimed, " I have murdered my best friend ; " and for 
several days after he locked himself up in his room because 
it grieved him so much. " Ah, that I had rather not killed 
the animal, but trusted to its generosity ; I do not yet believe 
that it would have devoured me, and I would far rather the 
thing had not ended so." She told me much more about him 
which proved his great presence of mind, and spoke so wisely 
of this great quality that I was quite lost in listening. She 
said that men often reasoned long and wearily over what 
genius might consist in. She knew of no greater genius than 
in this power over one's self, which at last was communicated 
to all near it, and that he could easily govern who did not 
break away from himself with curb and rein, " as thou dost, 
little girl," she said, " and dashest up the steep, with thy spirit 
causing thy grandmamma giddiness." 

If ever there were great rulers, they were moulded to be- 
come so by this power of mind which they were obliged to exer- 
cise in a former life. Grandmamma believes that the soul, the 
being of man, enters from the seed of the spirit into another 
life. This seed it was, which during one life ripened within 
itself ; and then by gradual knowledge and more perfect capac- 
ity ever reproduces itself into new spheres. Then she told me 
of the ancestor of our grandfather, who, in the Thirty Years' 
War, was found on the battle-field near Dutlingen, where the 
French had suffered a great defeat, as ensign, wrapped in his 
colors, with the staff of the standard pierced through him. 
His brother, who wanted to protect the colors, lay over him, 
having paid for it with his life. They were in the French 
service, and the great Conde saw them fall, and said, " Ferme 
comme une roche." While formerly they were called Frank 
von Frankenstein, they now called themselves Laroche, be- 
cause the king gave to the widow of the brother who had 
also fallen in the battle an estate in Alsatia, and added three 
banners to the rock in their escutcheon. Over this last story 
I have been making my own reflections ; and so simple, yet 
so great an action, I have placed before my mind. He was 
an ensign — this ancestor of mine ; and both the brothers did 



GUND ERODE. 



131 



an immortal deed in faithfully defending the standard to which 
they had sworn, and sacrificed their lives for it. While the 
ensign dying wrapped his standard around him, his brother, 
the sergeant, even protected it with his body in death, thus 
saving the colors to the army of Conde, so that it might not 
fall as trophy of victory into the hands of imperial Tilly, al- 
though they were both of them Germans by birth. 

An oath must be the awakener of great strength in man, 
mightier than our earthly life. 1 believe that all which is 
mightier than our earthly life makes the spirit immortal. — 
Indeed, an oath is an obligation, a vow, to stake the temporal 
for the spiritual — there, I believe I have found what ought 
to be the inmost foundation of our Hovering-religion. — 
Every one must swear to something sacred within him, and, 
like that ensign, make himself immortal by sacrificing his 
life for it ; because Immortality must be the aim, not Heaven ; 
of that I may think as I will, it wearies me, and its glory 
and enjoyment are no temptation ; one tires of them ; but 
self-sacrifice and care, they never weary. In happiness and 
enjoyment man grows not, but will ever stand still in them. 
What, then, is the true, the sole spark of happiness, that 
sparkles over from the great hearth of the gods into this 
life ? — That is feeling, the affliction which strikes fire from 
the steel in the blood ; yes, that is it alone. It is the secret 
inner conviction of the cooperation of all the powers that 
makes all active and quick in us, to act with the spirit, stak- 
ing for it its own earthly nature and possessions. Indeed 
the spiritual strength which renders useful the temporal 
power is the only human happiness. 

Yes, I believe that possessions are only to be called gifts 
of fortune in so far as they are given us to deny them, for 
the sake of the higher needs of the inner man. This denial, 
this giving up placed within our reach by these gifts of for- 
tune, that we may rise above them, seems to me a divine 
gift, but we drop it, losing the inspiration that should flow 
through our senses, with the nectar of happiness ; we fear it, 
and though we longed for it, yet is it dangerous to thrust the 
cup away like a drunken god, when it is empty. Mark ! it 
also belongs to our Hovering-religion that we drink wine to 
the gods, and, drunken, fling the cup with the dregs into the 
stream of time. Thus it is, else I know not what I could 
prize as happiness, but vigorously ever to create anew, and 



132 



GUNDERODE. 



not watch with argus-eyes the old. Otherwise, I know noth- 
ing that would tempt me, nothing I should like to be or to 
have, but a penetrating mind. Of me, no one shall hear that 
I am unhappy, let come what will ; and whatever falls to 
my lot or my way through life, I will take it upon myself as 
sent by God. Mark again ! that too belongs to our Hover- 
ing-religion, — and my inner happiness, that I will settle 
with the gods. Those moments in which a feeling as though 
divine emotions were awake in us spreads the plumage of 
pride, making all ordinary thoughts stand in awe and go 
out of our way, — ah ! that it is, — then one mounts alone to 
the mountain-tops, inhaling the odors borne by the night- 
wind, breathed upon us by the Genius, for joy and grati- 
tude that it is born again in us not to be denied, — then we 
dedicate ourselves to it anew, covenanting with ourselves to 
bear and suffer patiently. Nothing is too trifling that calls 
into action such great powers of mind, for even in exerting 
these consists the great, and we cannot neglect the higher for 
the lesser ; for directing the power of the soul to the lesser 
with forethought, like the Giver of life, is the true sacrifice 
which makes us divine. " All things must be left to God," 
say the good Christians ; yes, indeed, from Him I take what 
He sends forth to me first, that to which the first emotions of 
my soul prompt me, gliding down on the stream of time 
which He directs ; and if there I neglect the past or the 
greater, that I cannot know, but were it a bee that must 
drown without my help, I would first reach it a bough 
whereon to save itself ; such is the foundation of my inward 
happiness. On the whole, why should I be in trouble about 
earthly happiness ; it disturbs me not. Were any one to 
extol his happiness, I would laugh at him. If any one were 
to tell me : Nothing will occur to thee, thy days will pass, 
and thou canst not unite thy efforts with the times, they de- 
mand nothing of thee, flying on their course, deaf in the tur- 
moil of those who clamor to be heard as they fight their way, 
that is nothing to me, — if acting, if feeling or communing 
in deep sympathy with the Genius, which is the same ; for 
what is action but becoming conscious of right, and doing it ? 
Actions are the letters of the mind, but not as sweet as 
the secret, heavenly school of the spirit. 

Think where I will, nothing seems so sweet to me as lying 
in the shade of yonder great linden, beneath its falling bios- 



GUND ERODE. 



133 



soms, and through its rustling branches to watch for the loved 
one, the Holy Ghost. He is ray lover, coming- to visit me 
now in the hot season, when I am lounging in the bosket, 
where the linden-blossoms are raining down upon me with 
every soft breath. Oh, he makes no show of wisdom, of 
theological learning, of virtue and religion. I suit him as I 
am, and he laughs at me when I ask for instruction ; breath- 
ing upon me, he says : There is wisdom for thee. — Then up 
I jump; my face glowing with his breath, I run into the 
house, thinking how happy am I ! I throw myself upon the 
earth and kiss it ; that is my prayer, — how shall I embrace 
him but by kissing the earth ? Lonely — that I never am ; 
my lover is everywhere, — the third person, in the Deity 
everywhere ; also in the bunch of flowers from the gardener, 
standing by my bed, lighted up by the moon at night, when 
all is still and deep in sleep, and the lights out in the neigh- 
bors' houses ; then those gay colors absorb the moonlight ; 
when I look at them I say : These are thy words to me, 
Holy Ghost, the play of the light on the flowers. — He de- 
nies not that I understand him. To thee I can tell all, for 
through thee I first learnt to understand him. When thou 
readst to me in the morning thy compositions of the evening 
before, I constantly looked about for him who might have 
dictated them to thee. The sound of them carried me away. 
I felt that it was the Spirit whom I too meet when I am 
standing out upon the hill. He rushes towards me from 
afar, bowing down the tree-tops ; nearer and nearer he comes, 
darting upon me — embracing me ! Who else can it be? — 
who will forbid it ? — I feel his wisdom ; his love is rhythm. 
What is rhythm ? — It is the echo of the feelings against the 
great dome of heaven, making it ring again. That which we 
feel becoming audible, striking tenderly on the ear of the 
soul, sounding deeply into the heart ; that is rhythm ; that is 
the Holy Ghost, giving us sweet must from the wine-press 
of our own thoughts, the sweet Holy Ghost. 

AT NOON. 

Ah, Giinderode, I know what the world-soul is ; I have 
often wondered at the rushing when sitting alone in the noon- 
sun, for then the sound is loudest. That is my love who is 
with me under the linden in the night-breeze. — The Holy 
Ghost is the world-soul. He touches all things, raising them 



134 



GT7NDER0DE. 



from the dead ; had I not him, all the world would be death 
to me. To live is to awaken life ; T wondered when the 
spirit told me. I bethought me if I were awakening life, 
or were dead. Then I recollected that God said, " Let 
there be," and that the words of God were creation, and I 
would imitate it. I went to the shore of the Maine in the 
evening and saw the blue Taunus in the distance, and gazed 
upon it that it might receive life. How soon was my will 
fulfilled! Thou shouldst have seen the stream of living 
breath surging over to where I sat. The swallows came 
flying before, the mists rolled down, the rays of evening 
dimly lighting the pastures on the slopes and the flower-gar- 
dens ; he rolled all towards me from the lap of his valley, 
and unveiled it, so that I could clearly see. How plainly did 
my eyes behold ! — Ah ! — I thought no further ; to me it 
was the long-expected, long-known lover ! — Thus the Spirit 
changes into everything upon which I look with life-giving 
eyes. And no one do I meet who loves me, but the Holy 
Ghost speaks from him unto me. Ah, yes ! — I can speak 
happiness. — Sounds of the soul, heavenly Graces ! ye bear 
me to the love-couch on the green grass. — What thou wak- 
est, awakeneth thee again, and what awakens us is the Holy 
Ghost, who arose to me above the distant heights, over the 
mists, for I' longed to see him with my eyes. How lost I 
was in regarding him, so that I perceived nothing of the 
darkness, and he caught me in the veil of night, wrapping it 
all about me ! Ah ! do but awaken life, and directly it becomes 
independent, and overpowers thee, and thou belongest to it, 
instead of it to thee. But I have yet something in the back- 
ground that I must tell thee here : The more powerful 
strength is, the more life it has ; therefore, beauty is the liv- 
ing spirit, for it alone awakens life, — aught else rouses not 
the spirit. Ha ! how the soul languishes for beauty, for 
life ; beauty is the sustenance of the soul. It is a great mis- 
fortune not to be surrounded by beauty ; all things die out, 
and that which bears not the germ of beauty is lost to eter- 
nity too. 

Longing is the germ of beauty which expands. Longing 
is the fervent love of beauty. This afternoon Biiri brought 
grandmamma a book for me, — Schiller's Aesthetik ; I was to 
read it, to form my mind. I was quite terrified when he 
placed it in my hand, as though it would hurt me, and I 



GfXDERODE. 



135 



threw it away. — To form my mind ! — I have no mind — I 
want no mind of my own. In the end I will not be able 
any more to understand the Holy Ghost. TV ho can form me 
but he ? What is all policy against the silvery glance of 
Nature ! Truly it shall be a chief principle of our Hover- 
ing-religion to permit no formation of the mind, that is. no 
trained formation ; each one shall eagerly look upon and bring 
himself to light from the depth, like a rich ore, or a hidden 
spring ; all culture shall tend towards bringing the spirit to 
light. It seems to me that with the five senses God has 
given us, we can reach everything, without torturing our 
wits by culture. Cultivated persons are the most witless 
phenomena under the sun. True culture - is produced by 
using the powers within us, is it not ? Ah ! could I but rend 
the chains that keep me from gratifying all my inward de- 
mands ; for by that alone would the perceptions burst into 
full blossom. I have just read through my letter, and am 
surprised at the parade-horse of boastful thoughts trotting by 
the rein in a ring. A philosophic high trotter. I do not feel 
comfortable when I have mounted him. How many things 
do enter my head that I do not care to know anything about ! 
If I could only spit down upon the Philistines from the lad- 
der of presumption ! — Good-night. This is the fourth day 
that I have not heard from thee ; if I have no letter to- 
morrow, I shall come and ask thee myself what to think of it. 

BETTIXE. 

TO BETTIXE. 

Yesterday I returned from Hanau. where I spent three 
days in the most prosaic business transactions. Thy two let- 
ters lay upon my pillow, besides one from Clemens inquiring 
about thee, not having heard for so long a time ; receiving 
no answer to several letters, he fears thou art ill. Hast thou 
really not written to him ? Do not delay it any longer. He 
inquires about thy studies, and fears thy interest in Thorough- 
bass, about which thou wrotest to him so enthusiastically, has 
already subsided again. I am to bring thy unsteady mind to 
reason ; he calls me careless and accuses me of neglecting 
thee ; I reproach myself too. yet, after all consideration, I 
can arrive at no better result than to leave thee entirely to 
thyself. Clemens thinks thou hast enormous talent for 
every art, and that it must move the very stones by the way 
to allow thee thus to waste it ; thy self-content depended 



136 



GUNDERODE. 



upon giving thyself up to it, body and soul, and were the key 
to thy whole existence. — I dare not tell him that thou hast 
become a founder of religion, and taken all humankind upon 
thyself ; that thou wilt let it live on air, and grope in the 
darkness of unculture ; that thou wilt eschew boiled food, 
and live entirely on raw carrots and onions, throwing roast- 
ing-spits to the devil, and wilt invite the Taunus Mountains to 
dine with thee ; that thy religion is to hover, besides having 
discovered a nobleman in thy gardener, — all this I must not 
tell him. 

Pray, what shall I tell him ? Do help me by a sugges- 
tion. — The rapid change of topics in thy letters would make 
Clemens's hair stand on end ; thy tender relation to the Holy 
Ghost, as thou callst him, whom thou canst scent like a 
pointer, would cause him unspeakable anxiety. He wishes 
to know what thou writest, for he says he knows that I 
receive enormously long letters from thee ; it is a riddle to 
me how he discovered it, I have not mentioned them to any 
one. I think Clemens is right, for even if thou hast discov- 
ered a new life, in which thou findst thy own fulfilment, as 
thou sayst, thou must be capable of feeling that, as well as by 
all those phenomena of Nature which thy Genius avails him- 
self of to reach thee, he could do so by means of any art 
to which thou choosest to open the portal ; but, poor fellow ! 
I believe thou wouldst rather crush him than let him through. 
That which really stimulates thee, and collects thy ardor for 
a moment, thou takest pains to dispel, and scatter to the four 
winds. 

Thou canst not deny that music coincided with everything 
requiring a stimulus in thee. Hast thou not written to me 
that thy spirit constantly called to thee, " Take a violin, and 
swell the stream of harmony, else canst thou never be happy " ? 
It was this, or something similar, thy letters contained a 
month ago ; how thou feltst that music was the primordial 
spirit of all elements, that it alone called forth the spirit in 
man, and that spirit could be music only, beside many more 
high-flying ideas of the same nature, that have, as I see, 
entirely vanished from thy head. Where is thy primordial 
spirit of music now? — I will not cross the path of thy life ; 
but that thou canst not, even for the sake of the Spirit, who 
meets thee on secret paths, and whom thou lovest so that 
thou thinkst it is only his presence in all things thou lovst; 
that thou canst not for his sake devote thyself to an art, make 



GUNDERODE. 



137 



no exertion, read no book; only go to walk, climb roofs and 
hedges, rove in misty paths, founding Hovering-religions, till 
it is a real misery ! How gladly would I try that with thee, 
which Clemens holds to be my duty, but thou wilt render no 
account to me, ever hovering like a butterfly beyond thy 
height. How long wilt thou stay from home ? — Tonie wishes 
me to say that she intends to call for thee Wednesday even- 
ing at half-past nine to go to a ball that Moritz gives in Nie- 
derrath ; she consulted with Marie and Claudine about thy 
toilet, as thou hast no ball-dress at Offenbach. Claudine pro- 
posed a white crape tunic, broad blue shoulder and waist 
sash, and a head-dress ; Marie says thou never dressest thy 
head, but this time I propose myself that thou wear a wreath 
of blue cinder-wort ; it will be very becoming. Moritz will 
send thee a bouquet of them. To-day is Saturday ; on 
Wednesday then, if thou dost not write to the contrary. 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

I do not send a regret for the ball, but look forward to it 
with much pleasure. I have been very happy here for four 
weeks, and will on no condition leave grandmamma, till 
aunt returns from the Springs ; we have become accustomed 
to each other very much, grandmamma and I, and I asked 
her if she would have any objections to my going to the ball. 
She said : No, darling, thou hast been shut up here long 
enough ; when wilt thou come back ? for thou wilt want to 
spend the day following at F. I told her I would return 
again the same night, for I saw she feared I might stay in 
town, when it might easily happen that my brothers would 
not let me return, and I do not wish to leave unless grand- 
mamma herself desires it, and is not alone any more. Do 
then arrange it that Tonie and Marie drive together, so that 
I can come over in George's gig, because I do not fear the 
night-air ; that you know is a law of our Hovering-religion. 
Thy terrific growling I do not fear either; 1 know very well 
that thou art pleased ; thou mayst tell Clemens what thou 
likst, but nothing out of my letters. He who told him of 
my long, long letters to thee, was St. Clair, to whom thou 
readst part of the longest, allowing him to copy it. It" he has 
only not spoken of the contents, nor read it to him! for I know 
surely that Clemens will look at me fixedly, and get round 



138 



GT7ND ERODE. 



me by all sorts of questions, asking all manner of curious 
things, dodging right and left and across, with exhortations 
to free me from witchcraft. As I tell thee, with Clemens I 
lead an entirely different life, it is quite another stop I open 
w r hen I write to him, it has not the same tone I use to thee. 
It is not all over yet with my music, nor has it become a 
stagnant notion. I am sincere, and the one virtue of truth 
goes through my nervous system, and it is combined con- 
nectedly as the daily usages of life are in my mind. If 
I at different times have told thee of the great influence 
music has upon me, thou canst think I did not stand still 
there. But if we enter on paths which as yet have led 
to no goal, — which are desolate, leading to no solution that 
has not become obvious to me, why shall I speak much 
about them ? Acquaintance with the vital part of music 
is only made by artists in a manner that tends merely 
to an explanation of its separate parts, and they are not 
a little proud of their learned conversation about it ; it does 
not dance through my head like a blue mist merely, — as 
there arises at the same time a romantic or spiritual picture 
within me ; the one giving me moods, and the other revela- 
tions. Only yesterday in the bosket, among different new 
music that did not inspire me at all, a symphony of Fred- 
eric II. was performed. Directly in the beginning he rises 
courageously, with ringing spurs and horseman's boots, en- 
couraged from all sides to gallop bravely over the heads of 
timid humanity; and soon he has no conscience about doing 
it. Only one Muse, Euterpe, meets him firmly ; his horse has 
carried him to a desolate spot, far from men, whom he gov- 
erns like leashed hounds, by a call. Here he sinks down be- 
fore the only overpowering one ; here he confesses the great 
void of his heart ; here he wants balsam to be laid on all his 
w T ounds. Impatiently and tenderly, humbly he kisses the 
prints of her feet, and confidently he bows his crowned head 
before her blessing. Purified and comforted, he returns again 
from this flute-adagio to his Court, as though nothing had trans- 
pired with him amidst the brilliant ringing of violins and 
oboes. I feel what wisdom Art exercises. Where no hand 
reaches, no lip opens, no thought ventures, there she appears 
as priestess, and before her the heart overflows. Beseechingly 
it places its confessions at her feet, taxing itself with every fault, 
desiring to be received entirely into her bosom. Ah, Music ! she 



GUXDERODE. 



139 



pierces gold and iron ; no helmet fits so closely to the head, 
no cuirass to the breast, but she pierces it, and king and vassal 
bow before her. But how is it with the symphony of Beet- 
hoven that followed directly after ? Wilt thou be carried 
over among the pillar-like stems of yonder olive-grove, with 
its velvet leaves floating in the breeze that ripples their green 
veils and sighs in the soft elastic grass about thy silent tread? 
Come ! see the sun in his fiery armor, darting arrow-rays 
from the arch into the eternal ether ; — soon borne by the 
changing waves, the endless ocean heaves beneath thee. The 
wind rushes along amid towering billows, — opening the way 
for silvery gods, who, floating upwards, entwine themselves 
with thee by heavenly rhythms born from fhy bosom. But 
changing, without end, is this ocean. In the ecstasies of its 
transport, color upon color glides over its waves, enchaining 
thy looks, penetrating thy senses, languishing, then fiery, 
smiling, weeping, dazzling, and again veiled, — so quickly it 
flits by, like the glance of inspiration from beloved eyes, 
thou canst not hold, nor yet turn from it. Clear and 
cloudless the sky ; gently its breath chases before it count- 
less wavelets, — one after the other, — and they die on the 
shore with low sighs. Ah ! sweet moment, reigning over 
the ocean of passion ! it takes away thy breath, and thou 
wouldst hold firmly and forever that which unceasingly re- 
cedes before thee each moment. What is it, the soul in the 
ocean of music ? Does it feel pain ? Has it ecstasies, — the 
wonderful touching one ? No thought can follow it — does it 
sympathize by reaction with every emotion ? Loves it when 
we love ? Does it flatter her foaming when our tears mix 
with it ? Oh, I would throw myself into the emerald lagoons, 
over which, gently carried through the endless sea, the boat 
rocks our united souls harmoniously to the last tone. And 
then, — the same calm, the same cloudlessness, the same 
breath, — sweet, pure, — the same sunlight in the soul, intox- 
icated by the sweet, swaying tones that stir the bosom. But 
soon it rises! the great spirit of creation — thou nearest in 
the rushing his voice, in which all blends, dying away. Then 
in thy awed bosom its breath is felt again ; and now — pow- 
erfully — in ceaseless rising and falling, it rushes frothing 
back to the winds that roar resounding in its abyss. Yes, 
that is Beethoven's ocean of music. From heaven to heaven 
rise the tones, bolder the oftener they must descend. And 



140 



GUNDERODE. 



high above that double cadence thou feelst thyself in safety, 
on a lofty rock, encircled by those hurricanes, those waves 
that rise to thy heart without end, forever receding, ceaseless- 
ly returning with renewed force. They dash against thee, 
mingling with each other, yet dividing again in the sunlight 
of harmony, — and at last, all the longing voices that sway in 
the merry confusion of joy, of sadness, that sound at a single 
sign from his master-hand. But now enough ! Ha, how 
dost feel in thy breast ? Yes, confess ! Is it not an ocean of 
music ? and he — Beethoven — it is who rules it ? And dost 
thou not feel here that the Divine, which gives the spirit of 
creation, is unsubdued passion ? and dost not believe that the 
spirit of God is only passion ? What is passion, but life in- 
tensified by the feeling that the Divine is near thee ; thou 
couldst attain it, blend with it ? What is thy happiness, thy 
soul's existence, but passion ; how it increases the power of 
thy activity, what revelations are made in thy bosom of which 
before thou didst not dream ! What is too difficult for thee ; 
which of thy limbs would not move in its service ? Where 
is thy thirst, thy hunger ? Dost see, there thou beginnst al- 
ready to live on air. Light as a bird thou risest beyond the 
unattainable, and over into the distance dost thou send the 
flames of thy immortality, igniting the eternal, which dedi- 
cates itself to thy service, and passionately pours itself forth 
into the great ocean above which the eternal stars shine for 
thee ; and night paling in its splendor, the rosy dawn joyous- 
ly awakens. 

Ah, indeed, the error of the Fathers of the Church, that 
God is wisdom, has proved a stumbling-block to many a one ; 
for God is passion. Great, encompassing all in his heart 
that reflects life like the ocean, and passion pours into it like 
streams of life ; and, embracing them all, passion is the deepest 
rest. Now I will speak to thee ; I do not wish that thou 
shouldst further anxiously sigh about my idleness ! I am quite 
aware that on the whole I could employ my time much better 
than condemn it to that which does not fill my heart. I 
would have gained more for myself, and my love for^he best 
and highest would not have been supported by injustice ; 
knowing full well that I have wronged everything in my 
warmth that was not absolutely essential to my mind's sus- 
tenance, I always armed myself beforehand, not knowing 
but what a contest might ensue ; and truth has been put to 



GUNDERODE. 



141 



the sword a hundred times when I said that this or the other 
did not stimulate my mind, for everything stimulates it, yes, 
everything ; and I feel thy mission to guide and teach me 
harmonizing with a voice within that admonishes just as thou 
dost. But the impulse to give myself up to passion is so strong 
in me, that it seems nonsense to subdue so powerful a voice. 
Impossible ; yes, impossible is it for me to pay more than 
passing attention to anything, just as one sees the shores ap- 
proaching and receding. My eye catches them and sharply 
takes them in, so that the impression is clear, though the feeling 
within is but transient. I am ever urged onward, and where 
I scarce tarry, the farewell is spoken with the welcome ; and 
the least thing belonging to my journey, were it only the tar- 
ring of a ship's rope, I do with more pleasure than resting on 
those shores of Art and Science, though their sands were 
of gold, their rocks of diamond, and the dews falling there 
were pearls. Where would I go ? I had almost said upon 
the island where the apples and pears are ripe. Ah, but in- 
deed, there where the moss is fragrant, where it showers blos- 
soms, and heaven's breezes speak ; where the summer-wind 
rocks the boughs, and the forests guard night in their shadows, 
that it be captive while day sojourns ; where the eagles swoop 
down upon the blooming meadows, catching up the youths 
and bearing them up to the Omniscient, that he caress them 
a moment and dismiss them again to their sports by the 
brook ; where the bees swarm from the lips of the poets, 
gathering honey from the flowers that spring in his path ; 
where spirits dance about lighted hill-tops, and the soul ex- 
pands softly as a bud, embedding the rays of the spirit in its 
chalice, as the rose does the golden stamens that develop its 
life and also end it. That is in my mind ; there will I go. 
Nothing but a sea of blossoms, breathing fragrance, eating 
pears and ripe grapes, sharing with other lips the sweet 
peach, — I half, and he who yet tarried for me to-day at the 
cross-road when the sun set, the other. What is it ? It will 
bring me up ; it must cost tears, I know ; but there is joy, too, 
where beauty ripens, and that is all I demand of fate. It 
shall separate me from the evil, and permit no sin within me. 
In my ceaseless dreams I would feel a perfection — of Love 
and Beauty. That is my aim, and my soul strives to find a 
sphere in which I may constantly meet the beautiful. 
This it is, and naught else. Everything I experience of Art, 



142 



GUNDERODE. 



Poesy, and Science, reverberates like an echo in the unfath- 
omed depths of my bosom, and I start lest that be true which 
sometimes moves through my soul like a dream ; then my 
pulses throb in hope that there be a dual life, which really 
too can have a dual love ; that when I earnestly yearn to be 
understood, I am understood — somewhere ? — how ? — ah, 
what do I care, — by the fleeting mists, by the wind in the 
distance, by the last streak of light when the dome of night 
is already closing over me, — in short, everything I see must 
have spirit, loving spirit, — else truly I am w r ronged by it. 
What journeys do I undertake, what dangers brave in my 
soul ! Here in darkness I swim in shoreless floods, one 
wave plunges me upon the other, but I trust and have a 
voice within, that for the sake of the Genius I am so brave ! 
Oh the living fire ! and in spite of the storm, I hold aloft 
the palm and hasten to meet the first rosy light of dawn, for 
it is He himself. God is poesy, I said in my last letter; and 
wisdom, say the Fathers of the Church ; I denied it, and said 
He w r as passion ; wisdom serves Him to master the universe 
of passion, but it is not Himself. My reasons : What should 
God do with all His wisdom if He cannot appropriate it ? 
When from everything which is created, creation continues, 
because no force, no strength is superfluous, but must for the 
very sake of its higher development eternally stimulate and 
intensify itself ; so the wisdom of God cannot want to sit with 
idle hands. To rule heaven and earth, where sun, moon, 
and all the stars are already fastened up for eternity, can 
offer no temptation for wisdom. To meddle in the affairs of 
men, hear their prayers that are all perverted, must be easily 
done by a Heavenly household. Should God attend to it him- 
self, — it would be unwise, for the breath of God exceeds all 
spiritual pangs of humanity, and it would never be able to 
put forth the germ of its own wisdom. Our soul is inflamma- 
ble, it shall ignite itself ; have we not passion ? in the flames 
of the soul shall it rise to heaven to the eternal Creator, and 
in the glow of his passions be absorbed. Not in vain does the 
mighty spirit of Immortality arise; each breath, each look 
shall last forever, saith an inner voice. To all that trans- 
ports me in nature I swear eternal fidelity ; the caresses of the 
breezes, how could I refuse them the hot breath which is hot 
only to be cooled in the love of the breezes. The clear wav- 
ing waters, why should I not confide in them, that carry me, 



GUXDERODE. 



143 



softly resting on eternally moving life, as love carries what it 
loves ? — and the soft, gentle Earth, should I turn from her 
who leaves no emotion unborn, bearing each germ into the air, 
and placing pinions into the cradle of creation, that the spirit 
may unfold them, when it has ripened under her care ? — she, 
the divine Earth, upon whom all life tumultuously rejoices, 
cherishing it in her bosom and upon it, — and lets them 
trample upon her, all the living things, giving them the milk 
of her herbs and the abundant fruits that burst from her 
bosom ; — ah, why should I not love her with ardent iove, 
the double loving one ? And then — the light that descends 
into the darkness to move there, — breathing life into deso- 
lation, nourishing and strengthening the powers of the Earth, 
that afterwards play about the spirit in its own secluded 
darkness, conveying to it the passion of light, that it may 
also embrace with it. Why do all of you compose about 
those truths, so mighty, so self-dependent, as to move the 
bosom of the Poet that he becomes their element, and pro- 
nounces them forever. 0, let them be born for me ! that I 
may trust them, that I may yield myself up and enjoy them ; 
for why should they ever urge themselves upon your mind 
and stir your lips, ye that utter them, if they were not truly- 
living life that is born again through you into the senses of 
men. Indeed, my senses are fruitful land ; they have re- 
ceived your seed. Oh think ! that nothing was surmised by 
you - — nothing read in the clouds that did not come to life 
within me. That is it! What would I say? Ah, how far 
I have strayed ! I would only say of God that he could not 
be wisdom, but passion which needed wisdom, courageously 
and nobly to complete what germed within it. How shall I 
tell thee if thou wilt not understand it thyself — if thou wilt not 
understand that all being is expressed by passion ; even rest 
is nothing but passion, and man only born with the bosom of 
a god, like a hearth of passion, forever to sacrifice to the Di- 
vine with a living flame. If thou dost not agree to this, 
how can I force thee to ? Therefore come and let us gather 
wisdom wherewith to feed the glow of our passions. We 
have protested against God's being wisdom ; but that wis- 
dom and courage are in love with one another, (not that of the 
Fathers of the Church,) that is our doctrine. They are the 
hearth upon which passion burns ; without them passion can- 
not breathe. If there were no burning passions between the 



144 



GTTNDERODE. 



spirit and strength, whence should they draw their fire ? for 
out of nothing comes nothing. They would become latent 
and die — spirit and power. But the ardent desire to unite 
and possess one another feeds the vital fire within them, so 
that there is a constant attraction towards one another ; feel- 
ing in each emotion moving one or the other, that it is inner 
living life, all else is not living within us. 

Why must we feel shame before ourselves, were it not that 
this inner love-tyrant drew feeling to account because we 
have broken faith with a mighty one within us, or have 
shown a weakness before the beloved ? What is conscience 
but the love-court that the Spirit holds with the Senses, where 
they devote themselves to each other, bringing sacrifices and 
doing heroic deeds, receiving the inner reward of Love? 
Then that voice examining each mood. As this life is devel- 
oped more deeply and broadly, the firmer are its pretensions 
and privileges based, the more easily wronged. I tell thee, 
there is a nobility, a heightened impulse in the soul, that is 
reflected back upon external life, and from the passionate con- 
tact of the Senses with the Spirit. When thou walkest, when 
thou turnest, or even raisest thy voice, — - anything that draws 
thee but for a moment from the presence (influence) of those 
life-impressions, dost thou not feel reproaches — a hesitation, 
a want of power in thee ? Does not thy heart beat in agony 
as though it would return there where the Senses, beloved by 
the Spirit, tenderly embrace with it ? Ah, I must speak such 
nonsense with tears, for I am deeply moved by something ; 
how shall I tell it to thee ? Noble man ! an arena for the pas- 
sions, all powers that struggle into life through love for one 
another. One excites the other, tenderly or ardently ; all to- 
gether they glow through the spirit for each other, when 
through the glow and glistening, commonplace day looks in 
so soberly, tears apart the fire, puts out the brands, making 
an every-day body out of one. That is the distress thou art 
in about me ; meanwhile these destinies dwell in my bosom, 
and demand an answer each hour. Then there is discord, 
reconciliation, and secret love-gifts, — and all this like the soft 
evening wind that comes creeping over. I hear it gently ap- 
proach and flutter at my heart, and I am in agony ; why ? 
I cannot say. My heart — it's too weak. To be beloved by 
a higher power in sweet desire ! It cannot endure it, — that 
Spirit without me, in the waves of air, in the moonlight — if 



GrTJNDERODE. 



145 



it speaks to me, I cannot endure it ; then I beg thee let 
me sleep in thy lap. I cannot look into its face ; tell it I 
would die, and it should cover me with green branches. It, 
that stands beside or above me, gazing at me so silently ; 
what is there destructive in love that I say I would die ? for I 
have nothing in ray soul but this language. My hands can- 
not reach it. Would I grasp into the air ; no, I dare not ; 
my eye sees only at night, not in the bright daylight. But 
at night, in darkness, I go to meet him ; hurriedly I am 
urged into the dark wood-paths, and am most convinced I see 
him in the distance. Not joyous, not sad — deep stillness 
within me — sometimes my heart beats fearfully, and I see his 
shadow before him gliding over the grass ; then I rouse my- 
self to think. I collect my thoughts, and with hurried steps 
I go forward, ever nearer, and lay myself down upon the 
roots. I kiss these roots ; they are the feet of the Poet-spirit 
above me. But I must go to bed ; I am too tired ; twice have 
I dropped asleep already while writing. 

To-day I see that I have not answered anything in thy let- 
ter, and, for want of logic, strayed into the transcendental, 
though I wanted to tell thee that I still studied history, but 
do not wish to give thee any more dry extracts from it in my 
letters. I draw maps instead, and have other speculations ; 
thus twice a week I study music with Hoffmann ; not 
thorough-bass, that he thinks I will learn by myself, but 
rather has me write down my melodies, on which he sets 
some value, liking to listen when I sing evenings. He over- 
heard some of my passages and wrote them down ; and late- 
ly, in a concert, he fantasied only on a theme that he got from 
me. I found it rather singular ; the music came to me so 
mockingly, I knew not what to *say, and should not have 
guessed it. The next morning he asked me how I liked it ; 
I replied that it seemed as though I must run before, always 
knowing what was to follow, and that the fantasies had a 
sense I could comprehend. " Yes, that was because they 
were your own paths that you followed." Since then he de- 
sires that I may learn to write music, which comes much 
harder to me than the other. No thought will remain for a 
moment, and if I succeed at last in retaining it, it tears apart 
in the middle, and I cannot find the other half as it originally 
came from my mind. I do indeed find another end, but be- 
cause it was not the first that came spontaneously, I become 
10 



146 



GUND ERODE. 



impatient as though it were wrong, and it becomes utterly 
impossible to find the time. Hoffmann will connect the meas- 
ures for me ; that I do not want ; sometimes I permit it. Af- 
terwards my feeling suggests something else. Hoffmann has 
unspeakable patience with me, and says it will be easier in 
time ; that as soon as I am accustomed to write it down I 
shall soon master it. When he tells me this, it makes me 
quite sad. I will not master them, but they shall master me, 
these floods of music, of which I do not know if they have 
any value for another ear. It matters not, because they speak 
to me, telling me of the full accords of life, which I recog- 
nize as making me one with Nature. This is what hinders 
me. It seems to me as though I would dabble in prophecies. 
Yes, my studies will be difficult ; and yet I have the will 
and do my utmost in this desert created by my want of tal- 
ent. And of the Spirit, which is life within me, I must take 
leave when I would learn. I say to myself, it is only for a 
time ; the Spirit will return ; and then feel myself prepared 
for the farewell, dying when I would learn. 

Now I will answer thy last question about that poor 
woman. It was shortly before I returned from Frankfort that 
I was coming home from Tonie's, who lives before the Bock- 
enheim gate, on my way to the city, when I met a woman 
whose shoe was untied, and she could not stoop to tie it as 
she was with child, sighing very much under her burden. I 
let her place her foot on my knee, in order to tie her shoe, 
and then assisted her to her lodging, as she complained of 
great pain. It was nearly twilight when we came to the city, 
where we were met by Frau Euler, who seems to be our evil 
spirit. I dropt her a deep courtesy for my own gratification, 
and dragged on the woman, who began to frighten me, as she 
was sighing deeply, and was very pale, while the perspiration 
stood on her brow. We chanced on good Dr. Neville, to 
whose care I consigned the woman. As I was crossing the 
Horse Mart I met Moritz, who said, " How pale you look ; 
what is the matter ? " I answered that I was very hungry ; 
and it was really so. The terror I had endured for the 
woman had made me hungry. Moritz put his hand into his 
pocket that was filled with dried olives, of which I am fond, 
and emptied his pocket into my glove, which I took off in or- 
der to put them in, when ill-luck brought Lotte that way. 
Moritz left me ; but Lotte came up and inquired how I 



GUXDERODE. 



U7 



could stand hand in hand with Moritz in the open street. 
This vexed me, and I stopped at the convent with thee, and 
ate my olives, placing the seeds side by side on the window- 
sill. Thou stoodst by me, wrapt and silent in the twilight ; 
at last thou saidst, " why art thou so still to-day ? " I an- 
swered. " I am eating my olives, which occupies me ; but thou 
art still too ; wherefore?" " Sometimes the soul is mute," 
thou saidst, u and all is dead within." " Is it so with thee," I 
asked. Thou wert silent awhile, then saidst, " It is within 
me just as it is out there in the garden ; the twilight rests 
on my soul as it does on those shrubs, yet it is conscious, but 
colorless." But " colorless " was repeated in a tone so frigid, 
that I looked up at thee surprised and intimidated ; for I did 
not dare to speak more to thee, and thought of words with 
which to begin. I cast about in wide circles, but nothing 
seemed suited to break this long silence, which grew deeper 
and deeper, waving through my head like slumber. I did 
not resist it, but laid my head dreamily upon the window-sill, 
and who knows how much time passed, when lights were 
brought, and as I raised my eyes thou wert bending over and 
looking at me. I gave thee a questioning glance, to which 
thy answer was, " I feel a void here in my bosom, which I 
may not touch ; it is painful." i; Can I not fill it — this void ? " 
I asked. " That would be painful too," was thy reply. Here 
I gave thee my hand and left, followed long by thy look, 
which was so still and deep, though it seemed only to glide 
over me. How I thought of my love for thee on my way 
home, twining my arms closely about thee in my mind, and 
thinking how I would bear thee in my arms to the end of the 
world, putting thee down on a fair mossy spot where I would 
tend thee, and allow nothing near thee that could give thee 
pain. This I wished in my childish heart. I would make 
thee joyous by force, and thought for a moment I should suc- 
ceed ; but I know I cannot succeed with thee. It was only 
a delusion of the senses, as with a child that cannot distin- 
guish the distant from the near, believing it can reach the 
moon down from the skies, and cheer a play-fellow, who is 
still and sad, with it. On reaching home I found them all 
assembled at tea, but I was mute because I thought of thee ; 
so I sat down on a stool by the fire, and closely searched my 
own heart, to find how I could awaken a life in my soul with 
which thou couldst enter into sympathy, because hitherto 



148 



GUNDERODE. 



thou hast given all to me, and I could never let the voice in 
my breast become audible before thee ; thus I thought that at 
a distance I should be better able to come to myself by writ- 
ing, because the manifold, nay the thousand-fold confusion 
within keeps me silent, and I cannot find words on account of 
it. I recollected that we were once speaking of Schleier- 
macher's Monologues, which I did not like ; but thou wert 
of another mind, telling me, " and had he said but these 
words : 6 Man shall bring to light all that dwells in the soul 
within, so that he may learn to know himself/ Sehleierma- 
cher would be divine, and the first great mind." Thus away 
from thee I thought I could reveal the whole depth of 
my nature to thee and to me, in its entire undisturbed truth, 
as perhaps it is not even known to me ; and if I want thee to 
love me, how can I begin but with my inner self? for I have 
nothing else. From that hour I followed myself like a spirit 
that I would cage for thee. The same evening, Franz spoke 
a few kindly but admonishing words to me for standing in the 
street chatting with Moritz ; Lotte had informed my sister- 
in-law of it. I made no reply, for a defence did not seem 
proper ; and I do not on the whole find a desire in my soul 
to wish to dispel such errors ; Moritz seeming to me quite wor- 
thy of being seen hand in hand with, although he was rather 
darkly represented to me in that warning. 

The next morning I met him in the entry, and looking 
round to see that I was not watched I drew him into a cor- 
ner of the winding-stair that leads up into my room, and there 
kissed him on his mouth twice, three times ; he felt my tears on 
his face and said, wiping them off with his hand, " What ails 
thee, child, what pains thee V I broke away and jumped upon 
the balcony behind the beans. It was quickly done, he did 
not see whither I had gone ; believing me in my room, he 
came softly up and knocked, but on receiving no answer he 
opened the door softly and entered the room for a moment ; 
as he came out he looked towards the balcony, and I feared 
very much he might see my white dress glimmering through 
the bean-leaves. I do not know if he saw me and noticed 
my hiding-place, but I think he did, and I was pleased with 
him for respecting it. On returning to my room I found 
on my table in the cabinet a little flask, in a pretty case of 
brazil-wood, filled with attar of roses. On the evening of 
his mother's ball he did not speak to me as usual ; but because 



GUN DE RODE. 



1-49 



the little flask sent forth such sweet odors from behind the 
bouquet of cinder-wort and roses, he smiled at me, and I 
smiled back ; but I felt my tears rising and turned away, he 
noticed it and went back standing among a group of others. 
He was called to dance with the princesses and had much on 
his hands, conversing for some time with the king of Prussia, 
but I saw how his eyes followed me the whole evening ; even 
while he spoke to the King they glanced over, but earnestly. 
I was secretly pleased, though I did feel like crying every 
moment. As we were leaving he whispered into my ear, 
v Thou resemblest Sophie." What was it all that passed 
through my soul ? I do not know. The next day when I did 
not as usual come to thee, Moritz had sent his gardener in 
the morning with a wagon full of fine, rare plants, which were 
placed without my knowledge behind the beans ; and when I 
saw them I was frightened at first, not knowing how the flow- 
ers had got there, but soon I knew, he must have seen me 
behind the bean trellis the day before. — Ah, I have been so 
deeply moved during these last hours ; by thee, by griev- 
ances, by pity that he had been traduced ; by his delicate be- 
havior towards me. and then by his telling me so secretly 
that I resembled Sophie, whom he had lost, that I at last did 
not know what I wanted. In the afternoon Christian Schlos- 
ser came, sent by Neville who had assisted the woman at the 
birth of a little girl (born that same hour), to ask if I would 
not go to the poor woman and the little child, who were very 
sick. They wanted me to stand godmother, and Christian 
Schlosser was to stand godfather with me. I went, and found 
the minister who baptized the child; the woman was very 
sick. When the minister had gone, the. nurse took the child 
in her arms and said, " It will die directly. " I began to be 
afraid, for I had never seen any one die ; and while the sick 
woman in bed was weeping for her child, the nurse said, " it 
is dying," rocked it a little, and suddenly it was dead. — Ah, 
how sad I was when I came home ! Franz said, " You have 
looked so pale for some time past, your health cannot be 
firm ;" and when in the evening the conversation turned on 
Moritz, in which he was not spared, I wrote to grandmamma 
she should request Franz to send me to her. This suited 
every one and me too ; for according to their opinion I was 
removed out of Moritz's way, and according to mine I shall 
be out of the way to hear him unkindly spoken of ; I do not 



150 



GUNDERODE. 



wish to hear anything wrong of him, no, never do I wish it. 
At Offenbach I soon became calm, and the vow became clear 
to me which I had made that evening before thy door when 
thou wert so cold and sad — that, would I make thee a gift of 
my soul, my inmost heart would I bring to light for thy love, 
because thou wilt value it like Schleiermacher. So I walked 
these hidden paths until I reached the spot where thou didst 
stop and wilt not go on fearing to listen to me, for indeed I see 
by thy letters that thou art afraid of my by-paths. O do not 
fear, faithfully as an echo I gave thee what sounded in my 
soul. 

I am happy ; be thou so too ! — I have beautiful dreams, 
which is a sign that the gods are pleased with me. — Morn- 
ings I feel as though I had been kissed by Poet's lips ; yes, 
mark ! by Poet's lips. Nay, I fear no more the future ! I 
know how I shall win its friendship ; indeed I know how. I 
will, like grandmamma, enclose my life in an eternal ring, and 
not die young as thou wilt. (Know much, learn much, sayst 
thou, and then die young ; why sayst thou so ? With every 
step in life thou art met by one who has a demand upon thee. 
How wilt thou gratify them all? — Tell me, wilt thou dis- 
miss one unfed who asks of thy bounty ? O no ; that thou 
canst not desire ! Live with me, therefore, because I have 
daily demands to make on thee. Ah, — what would become 
of me if thou wert not? Then, indeed, would I cease to 
search for even a trace of happiness. I would live on heed- 
lessly ; it is only for thy sake that I care about myself, and 
I will do all thou desirest. Only for thy sake do I live, dost 
hear ? I am so afraid — thou art great, I know — no, thou 
art not ; I will not address thee so loudly — no, thou art not ; 
thou art a gentle child, who, because it cannot bear its pain, 
denies it entirely — that I know ; thou hast veiled many a 
loss to thyself. But near thee, in the atmosphere of thy 
spirit, the world seems so great to me, not thou ; do not fear. 
Because life is so pure, and each phase so simply received 
by thee^ thy soul must indeed gain space to expand. For- 
give me to-day ; there is a mirror before my eyes as though 
a veil had been removed from them, and I am very sad ; 
nothing do I see but clouds and moaning winds, as though I 
must ever weep when I think of thee. — To-day I was out 
by the Maine, where the sedges were whispering so strangely, 
and as I am ever with thee in solitude, I asked in my soul, 



G-FNDERODE. 



151 



" What is this ? are the sedges speaking with thee ? " for I 
must confess to thee that I did not want to be addressed so 
sadly, so mournfully, and I wanted to turn it off from me. 
Ah, Giinderode, I was so sad, and was it not cowardly in me 
to avoid the complainings of Nature, and put them on to 
thee, — as though thou wert meant when she wailed so 
plaintively in the sedges ? Yet gladly will I share every- 
thing with thee ; it is an enjoyment, great enjoyment, to take 
thy griefs upon myself, for I am strong and obdurate, not 
easily affected, and then hope springs up so easily within 
me, that it seems as though all would again become brighter 
than even the soul desired. Depend on me ! — when thou 
art seized — as if to be hurled into an abyss ; I will go with 
thee everywhere — no path is too dark for me, though 
thy eye shuns the light when it is saddened. I like to be 
in the dark, dear Giinderode ; I am never alone, but full of 
the newly created in the soul's light, — for from darkness 
radiant Peace arises to me. Do not despair of me, because 
in my letters I wandered lonely paths, as though only seek- 
ing myself, which was not my will ; for thee I sought to con- 
fide in, that we might together drink from the waters of life 
murmuring by our path. I feel by thy letters that thou wilt 
withdraw from me, but I cannot resign the pen. It seems 
as if thou must leap from the wall, armed like Minerva, and 
swear, swear to my friendship, which is nothing but as it 
rests in thee, that thou wouldst henceforth float in the blue 
ether, and like her stride proudly with thy armed head in 
the sunlight, no more passing sadly into shade. Adieu ; I go 
to bed and leave thee, although I could wait all night, that 
thou show thyself to me, fair as thou art, and in peace 
breathing freedom as befits thy soul, capable of the noblest 
and greatest. My bosom be to thee on earth a resting-place. 
Good-night ! — Do love me — only a little. 

MONDAY. 

Three days I have written at this letter, and to-day I will 
despatch it. I do not want to read it over ; it is written, and 
truthfully too, if thou canst appreciate the momentary im- 
pulse of truth as I appreciate it, and it alone, although the 
Philistines say that nothing is truth but what after clear 
reasoning and due examination is received into the human 
mind. Ah, these impulses ! they till the field as though the 



152 



GTINDERODE. 



soul melted with the sunset, or dissolved free from clouds, 
expanding in the pure ether — bringing us prosperity like 
fair weather. As I close my letter, it seems as if a beautiful 
life lay before us, if thou wouldst but accept it, and trust me 
enough to leave thy hand quietly in mine when I take it. — 
This morning I went out to order the cinder-wort wreath for 
the ball, as thou suggested, — but it was Moritz who told 
thee I should wear it, was it not ? I went to the gardener, 
and found him standing in the gate between the bosket and 
the flower-garden. I think he certainly was expecting me, 
as I had not been there for two days. Last night, when I 
went to bed, I made a firm resolve not to cause unhap- 
piness to any one, but rather to give to all as much hap- 
piness as lay in my power, — and never will I think it too 
trifling ; for what is worthier than to give pleasure by a word 
or a look ? — Now, listen to the charming chat with the gar- 
dener. When I came, I said, I have a request to make o p 
Anton. (I never address him otherwise, as I do not like to 
call him thou.) I am to go to the ball to-night, and would 
like a wreath, but as -I am not glad to go, I want a sad 
wreath of cinder-wort, without any flowers at all. Can 
you give me enough cinder-wort to make a wreath without 
spoiling the shrubs? — Then he went before me, breaking off 
one after another, while I tied them to the wire. 

He had not yet spoken a word, but placed spray after 
spray on my lap ; I was sitting on the flower-stand by the 
green-house, and he moved the flowers above and around me 
together, and brought some more from the green-house, so 
that I soon found myself encircled by flowers ; a great purple 
passion-flower was drooping down by my side : this he si- 
lently cut, and silently I twined it with the rest. I tried on 
the wreath, and found it large enough ; he took it from my 
hand, and rolling up his sleeve, measured the length of it on 
his arm, fastened it, trimmed off the superfluous stems and 
leaves, and returned it to me. All this had taken place in 
silence. The weather is so fine to-day, I said, will I find you 
in the garden to-morrow if I come early ? " Oh, you will be 
too late for that, as you are going to dance all night." Oh, no ; 
at half-past eleven I shall come back, and you can hear me 
drive home past your house ; I am coming in the cabriolet 
and one horse ; so you may know if I keep my word or not, 
— there ! I will give you my hand upon it. He grew red, 



GUXD ERODE. 



153 



the gardener, as I held out my hand to him, dropping my 
handkerchief, which he caught with the other hand and re- 
turned it. I did not, however, take it, saying, The wreath 
is invaluable ; you have cut it from the heart of each shrub ; 
how shall I repay you ? I shall have to return it. — " Yes," 
he suddenly replied, " the wreath is mine." Well, said I, 
depend upon it I will return it. 

Yesterday, at half-past seven, I drove with Tonie to the 
ball. At the forester's lodge we met Moritz's people on 
horseback, with torches, who accompanied us through the 
woods. It was entertaining to see the torches borne in a 
gallop before us through the dark arch of the woods. The 
shrubbery was illuminated with colored lanterns. Ah, how 
lovely it was ! — and the eternal stars smiling over it. We 
were received by Moritz, and I exclaimed, How beautiful 
everything is ? " Art thou pleased ? Thou art beautiful too ; " 
and he left us. — Ah, I was so happy — I smiled to myself; 
I was awakened from the dream when I had to dance ; it was 
a coaxing, self-forgetting dream in the midst of confusion, a 
grave of pleasure : death-shudders flew after me, waking 
the souls of thoughts buried in my breast, and they hover 
over me in the blue air, making daylight reflect night, and 
night compared to it is glistening radiance, — making the stars 
fade, and the day so shady and cool, that the sun is power- 
less. At supper Moritz came : we sat at little tables, — I at 
the farthest one with Pauline, Chameau. and Willig. Moritz 
sat down beside me, and asked, u Who arranged your toilet 
to-day so simply and originally ? — the blue sash ! — what do 
blue ribbons signify? — and the gray wreath! — who sug- 
gested that ?* I said the echo of — Gris de cindre, joyeux et 
tendre. " Then the echo of a joyous tenderness must have 
met your ear ? " — He left us. — A love-chat at table, under- 
stood by no one but by myself, so easy, so airy — how dost 
thou take it ? Was it not like blossoms wafted into one's 
face by the soft west-wind ? Yes, must we not compare 
everything with Nature that penetrates us with joyous rap- 
tures ; not otherwise can it be expressed and pictured. If I 
will vividly recall the emotion of my heart at those words, I 
must think of blossoming trees, that load their gifts on the 
wings of the morning for me, and I am thrilled as by fore- 
bodings of spring when I think of it. When we all left, my 
sisters in the carriage first, and then I in George's high, airy 



154 



GrUNDERODE. 



gig, Moritz sent for his cloak to throw over my feet, because 
it was cool, and he asked me if I had been happy. Yes, I 
replied, everything was beautiful and harmonious, — the grassy 
carpet, the gay lights, the stars in the sky, rustling trees, and 
the music of violins and flutes, besides sweet words. — He 
drew me towards him, saying, " Thou wert the queen of the 
feast ; for thee I had the lamps lighted and the flutes called, 
and I feel greatly flattered that thou wert pleased, and found 
pleasure in it. Give me something in return, and as a recol- 
lection of this beautiful night." I have nothing ; what shall 
I give you ? " The wreath is becoming to thee ; that I do 
not want ; give me thy blue sash ; I will wear it about my 
neck to-night." I gave it to him, — he lifted me into the gig 
and threw his cloak over me^four horsemen galloping before 
us through the wood. HowMlid it seem to me like an en- 
chantment — so rapidly the shadows of the trees vanished in 
the glow of the torches, and again appeared under the quiet 
sky of night ! I was glad, — it went on thus for a while, the 
stars and torches catching me up by turns. When we came 
out of the wood, the moon had risen, and the horsemen turned 
and darted back like arrows ; I looked after them, but my 
eyes were dazzled by the storm of flames that rushed along. 
Write it into thy heart, this is thy life, I said secretly ; like 
a flying fire-dragon is thy spirit, illumining holy Nature in 
its sombre halls ; with hot tongue he thrusts against, but 
does not scorch it, — the dragon is not wild and venomous, 
no ! but tame and gentle. Hovering tenderly and restlessly 
in circles, he breathes his fire in gentle streams into the 
brooklet by the way, and his glowing breath is extinguished 
by the night-mists. Yes, the dragon is tender and loving 
too, not venomous and deathly, only no one will understand, 
and all fear him, excepting thou, my Giinderode ; thou dost 
not shun the dragon, but placest his flaming jaws tenderly 
into thy lap. — Now I awoke from dreams, and took the 
reins from the groom at my side, dashing across the broad 
plain, flooded by the moonlight. — Ah, how merry ! — all 
sorts of joyous sensations ! — With thee I read Pindar ; thou 
caughtst the inspiration on thy lips, trickling it into my 
soul. When the Bard flew by us on rushing pinions ! — 
Dost thou remember still ? — " On raged the glowing storm 
of hymns in praise, of the son of Latona ! " — Dost thou re- 
member it yet,. Giinderode ? — The light had burned down, 



GUNDERODE. 



155 



thou wert lying on the bed, thy soul filled with music, repeat- 
ing the verses in emphatic rhythm, where I dropped the me- 
tre, and by the night-lamp I read on : 

Hort mich, ihr Sonne stolzer Helden und der Gotter, 
Denn ich verkiinde diesem meergepeitschten Land, 
Einst werde Epaphus Tochter eine Stadtwurzel pflanzen 
Auf des Hammonia's Boden, den Sterblichen zur Wonne; 
Die kurzbefiederten Delphine vertauschen alsdann 
Mit schnellen Rossen werden sie, die Ruder mit Ziigeln — 
Und fahren auf sturmfussigen Wagen dahin. 

Hear me, proud sons of heroes and of gods ! 

For I will herald to this wave-lashed land, 

Epaphus' daughter shall a city plant 

On the Hammonian's soil, delighting mortal man; 

The light-finned dolphin then they will exchange 

For swift-footed steeds, and the oar for the rein., 

On storm-footed chariots swiftly will ride. 

I had these last lines on my tongue, and from time to time 
I uttered them in song, sending them out into the great, 
sleeping, solitary distance, as the moon hurried from behind 
light clouds. Hearest thou the ancient hymns again, Latona, 
sung in praise of thy sons ? cried I ; — thus they gradually 
filled my senses, and rose as though borne up, and made to 
vibrate by a harpist with his golden plectrum, and overflow- 
ing youth. — Happy night, where the thoughts, like blossoms 
in the south-wind, open full of hope, — and the feeling of a 
happy fate gushes like brilliant rays from the fiery flashes 
breathed from the dragon's mouth in the moonlit air. 

Thus we arrived at Offenbach, and I turned off to the left 
instead of driving into the Domstrasse ; the groom would 
have taken the reins, as he thought I was missing the way. 
I forbade him and drove rapidly past the bosket, where the 
poplars were gracefully swaying and timidly rustling as 
though they would greet me ; I turned into the narrow road 
to the gardener's house. I had told him at half-past eleven ; it 
was now three o'clock, and day was awakening ; the gar- 
dener stood at his door and took off his cap when he heard 
me coming. " Good-morning," I said, " I shall not come to 
the garden to-day, I want to rest ; here is your wreath," turn- 
ing round, full of satisfaction that I had carried out what I in- 
tended, as I had been doubting on the way whether to do it 
or not. To Moritz the belt, to the gardener the wreath, I 
kept saying to myself ; but an inner voice replied. Why 



156 



GUNDERODE. 



should the gardener miss the wreath ; it belonged to him, hav- 
ing been promised to him beforehand ; and I felt how it would 
pain him if I broke my promise, and that I could not come 
out of it without an untruth, as I must tell him that the 
wreath was either lost or torn, which would wound him 
doubly ; no, I must give it to him. My mind was really re- 
lieved when I had thrown it down, and he had caught it with 
his hand ; he blushed so pleased — like the dawn just break- 
ing. To Moritz the belt, and to him the wreath ! yes, they 
belonged to both ; for both are kindly sent by the Poet- 
genius, who, in the unbroken stillness, unknown and un- 
thought of by men, winds through the labyrinth of my breast 
at night. — At home in bed, how did it come over me? 
Lately I saw Franz's^baby at the breast of its nurse ; it had to 
swallow so rapidly and could not drink eagerly enough, the 
milk flowed to its mouth in such plenty. 

Just so was it in my heart: I swallowed sweet milk, all 
sweet recollections flowed, as soon as my thoughts sucked at 
it but a moment ; and as the baby turns from one breast to 
the other, because they flow too plentifully, until, weary of 
sucking, it drops asleep, so I turned from side to side, and at 
last fell asleep from sheer weariness of enjoyment. Thus I 
slept till noon, when they brought me a bouquet sent me from 
the bosket. Now let me tell thee what kind of a bouquet it 
was, how witty the gardener is ; how it was arranged, and 
what it may signify. In the middle a moss-rose-bud, around 
it forget-me-nots and heath, forming a wreath ; then above 
this, Juniper sprays and nettles, again protected by briery 
twigs and leaves, rising still higher, so skilfully bound as to 
resemble a chalice, in the deepest centre of which the moss- 
rose glowed. This I read as follows : The moss-rose is my 
gift of the wreath, the heath protecting the rose the modest 
gardener ; a flower that spreads in myriads over the fields, the 
forget-me-not, is everlasting recollection ; he will never forget 
that I gave him the wreath. The Juniper is the unassum- 
ing incense offered to my gift, and the nettles signify that 
his heart burns and aches, the thorns and leaves, rising chal- 
ice-like to hide the rose, say that it shall remain secret in his 
heart, and that he will guard it silently from all eyes in his 
heart's chambers. — St. Clair has returned, Tonie tells me. 
Has he seen thee ? — What has he told about Holderlin ? 



BETTINE. 



GT7NDER0DE. 157 

TO BETTINE. 

St. Clair was with me this morning ; he came from May- 
ence, and does not go to Homburg till to-day, where he re- 
mains eight days or more. When he returns, which will be 
on Sunday, he intends to go to Offenbach, and hopes thou 
wilt take a few turns in the garden with him when he will 
tell thee about Holderlin. Wednesday I shall go for three 
weeks to the estate of Mad. Mees, near Wiirzburg ; from 
there I will write thee more explicitly, because just now, dis- 
turbed by little preparations for the journey, I cannot reply 
to thy love, in which I confide as in the jrreproachable 
depth of thy soul. Already I feel inclined to let thy emo- 
tions and thy actions pass without comment. Do what the 
Spirit prompts, because it is the sole and best, where no one's 
advice suffices, and because thus too, thou canst only avoid the 
uncalled-for interference and counsellors ; those are the dan- 
gers to be feared here, not thy courageous mind. 

It is not thy nice, discriminating feeling that is to be feared, 
but the application of the measure that will nowhere fit thee. 
I often do not know with which wind to steer, and give my- 
self up to all. As thou knowest me, have patience, and re- 
member that it is not a single voice I must resist, but a gen- 
eral one, which like the Lernsean Serpent is constantly 
putting forth new heads. What thou sayst, dost, and writest, 
seems to come from, or harmonize with, my soul ; I do not 
incline to anything the world maintains, and if I coolly ex- 
amine its laws, its demands and ends, they all appear quite 
as absurd to me as they do to thee; but thy most absurd 
demonstrations, as thy opponents call them, I have never 
doubted, understanding thee like my own faith ; thou art 
divined and understood by me, at the same time must I 
commit the sin of denying thee. I am not indifferent to this 
weakness ; canst thou help me overcome it? I am ready for 
penitence. Let this suffice for thee to feel, that the reproaches 
with which thou vexest thyself on my account, do but weigh 
upon me. 

The product of the hour in which my irresistible mood was 
so firmly met by thy love, I enclose for thee. 

In early hour of heartache I have always been refreshed 
anew by composing, and was no longer oppressed when my 
muteness found words. 



GUND ERODE* 



DES WANDERER'S NIEDERFAHRT. 

Wanderer. 

Dies ist, hat mich der Meister nicbt betrogen, 
Des Westes Meer, in dem der Nachtwind braust. 
Dies ist der Untergang, von Gold umzogen, 
Und dies die Grotte, wo mein Fiihrer haust. 

Bist du es nicht, den Tag und Nacht geboren, 
Dess Scheitel freundlich Abendrothe kiist; 
In dem sein Leben Hoelios verioren, 
Und dessen Giirtel schon die Nacht umfliesst? 

Herold der Nacht! bist du's der zu ihr fiihret, 
Der Sohn dem sie den Sonnengott gebieret ! 

Fiihrer. 

Ja, du bist an dessen Grotte, 
Der dem starken Sonnengotte 
In die Ziigel fiel. 
Der die Rosse westwarts lenket, 
Dass sich hin der Wagen senket, 
An des Tages Ziel. 

Und es sendet mir noch Blicke 

Liebevoll der Gott zuriicke, 

Scheidend kiisst er mich; 

Und ich seh es, meine Thranen 

Und ein susses stilles Sehnen 

Farben bleicher mich; 

Bleicher, bis mich hat umschlungen 

Sie, aus der ich halb entsprungen, 

Die verhiillte Nacht. 

In ihre Tiefen fuhrt mich ein Verlangen, 

Mein Auge schauet nach der Sonne Pracht, 

Doch tief im Thale hat sie mich umfangen,' 

Den Dammerschein verschlingt schon Mitternacht. 

Wanderer. 

fiihre mich ! du kennest wohl die Pfade 
Ins alte Reich der dunklen Mitternacht; 
Hinab will ich, ans finstere Gestade 
Wo nie der Morgen, nie der Mittag lacht. 
Entsagen will ich jenem Tagesschimmer 
Derungern nur der Erde sich vermahlt; 
Geblendet hat mich triig'risch nur der Flimmer, 
Der Ird'sches nie zur Heimath sich erwahlt. 
Vergebens wollt den Fiiichtigen ich fassen, 
Er kann doch nie vom steten Wandel lassen. 
Drum fiihre mich zum Kreis der stillen Machte 
In deren tiefem Schooss das Chaos schlief, . 
Eh, aus dem Dunkel ew'ger Mitternachte, 
Der Lichtgeist es herauf zum Leben rief. 



GCXDERODE. 



159 



Dort, wo der Erde Schoos noch unbezwungen " 
]n dunkle Schleier ziichtig sich verhullt, 
Wo er, vom frechen Lichte nicht durchdrungen, 
Noch nicht erzeugt dies schwankende Gebild 
Der Dinge Ordnung, dies Geschlecht der Erde ! 
Dern Sehrnerz und Irrsal ewig bleibt Gefahrte. 

Fiilirer. 

Willst du die Gotter befragen, 
Die desErdballs Stiitzen tragen, 
Lieben der Erde Geschlecht; 
Die in seliger Eintracht wohnen, 
Ungeblendet von irdischen Sonnen, 
Ewig strengund gerecht; 

So komm, eh ich mein Leben ganz verhauchet, 
Eh mich die Nacht in ihre Schatten tauchet* 



Horch ! es heulen lant die Winde, 

Und es engt sich das Gewinde 

Meines Wegs durch Kliifte hin. 

Die verschloss'nen Strome brausen, 

Und ich seh mit kaltem Grausen 

Dass ich ohne Fiihrer bin. 

Ich seh ihn blasser, immer blasser werden, 

Und es begrub die Xacht mir den Gefahrten. 

In "Wasserfluthen hor ich Feuer zischen, 
Seh wie sich brausend Elemente mischen, 
*\Vie, was die Ordnung trennet sie vereint. 
Ich seh wie Ost und West sich hier umfangen, 
Der laue Slid spielt um Boreas Wangen, 
Das Feindliche umarmet seinen Feind 
Und reisst ihn fort in seinen starken Armen: 
Das Kalte muss in Feuersgluth erwarmen. 

Tiefer iiihren noch die Pfade 
Mich hinab zu dem Gestade 
Wo die Ruhe wohnt, 
Wo des Lebens Farben bleichen, 
Wo die Elemente schweigen 
Und der Friede thront. 

Erdgeister. 

Wer hiess herab dich in die Tiefe steigen 
Und unterbrechen unser ewig Schweigen? 

Wanderer. 

Der rege Trieb : die Wahrheit zu ergriinden ! 
Erdgeister. 

So wolltest in der Nacht das Licht du finden ? 
Wanderer. 

Nicht jenes Licht das auf der Erde gastet 
Und triigerisch dem Forscher nur entflieht, 



GUNDERODE. 



Nein, jenes Ursein das hier unten rastet 
Und rein nur in der Lebensquelle gliiht. 
Die unvermischten Schatze vvollt ich heben, 
Die nicht der Schein der Oberwelt beriihrt, 
Die Urkraft, die, der Perle gleich, vom Leben 
Des Daseins Meer in seinen Tiefen fiihrt. 
Das Leben in dem Schooss des Lebens schauen, 
In ihrer Werkstatt die Natnr erschauen, 
Sehen wie die Schopfung ihr am Busen liegt. 

Erdgeister. 

So wiss\ es ruht die ew'ge Lebensfiille 

Gebunden hier noch in des Schlafes Hiille 

Und lebt und regt sich kaum, 

Sie hat nicht Lippen urn sich auszusprechen, 

Noch kann sie nicht des Schweigens Siegel brechen, 

Ihr Dasein ist noch Traum, — 

Und wir, wir sorgen dass der Schlaf sie decke, 

Dass sie nicht wache, eh' die Zeit sie wecke. 

Wanderer. 

ihr ! die in der Erde waltet, 
Der Dinge Tiefe habt gestaltet, 
Enthiillt, enthiillt euch mir ! 

Erdgeister. 

Opfer nicht und Zauberworte 
Dringen durch der Erde Fforte, 
Erhorung ist nicht hier. 
Das Ungeborne ruhet hier verhiillet 
Geheimnissvoll bis seine Zeit erfullet. 

Wanderer. 

So nehmt mich auf, geheimnissvolle Machte, 
wieget mich in tiefen Senium mer ein, 
Verhiillet mich in eure Mitternachte, 
Ich trete freudig aus des Lebensreihn. 
Lasst wieder mich zum Mutterschoosse sinken, 
Vergessenheit, und neues Dasein trinken. 

Erdgeister. 

Umsonst! an dir ist unsre Macht verloren, 

Zu spat ! du bist dem Tage schon geboren, 

Geschieden aus dem Lebenselement. 

Dem Werden konnen wir, und nicht dem Sein gebieten, 

Und du bist schon vom Mutterschooss geschieden, 

Durch dein Bewusstsein schon vom Traum getrennt, 

Doch schau hinab in deiner Seele Griinden, 

Was du hier suchest wirst du dorten finden, 

Des Weltalls seh'nder Spiegel bist du nur. 

Auch dort sind Mitternachte die einst tagen, 

Auch dort sind Krafte die vom Schlaf erwachen 

Auch dort ist eine Werkstatt der Natur. 



GUXDERODE. 



161 



THE WANDERER'S DESCENT. 
Wanderer. 

This is, if I am not deceived, confounded. 

The western ocean, where the night-wind sighs 
This is the Occident, by gold surrounded, 

And this the grotto where my leader lies. 

Art thou the son of Day and Xight descended, 
About whose brow the evening crimson glows ! 

In whom his life fair Helios once ended, 
About whose girdle nightly shadow flows ? 

Herald of Xight ! art thou the guide to her, 
The son she gave the god of day so fair ? 

Guide. 

Thou dost near his grotto stray, 
Who once grasped the reins of day 
Out of Helios' hand. 

Who the white steeds westward guided, 

That the chariot downward glided 
To the twilight strand. 

Lovingly that God in parting, 
Beauteo'us rays at me is darting, 
Kissing me he goes ; 

While 1 gaze thro* tear-drops burning, 

Wrapt in sweet and silent yearning," 
Paler now I grow. 

Paler, till 1 am enshrouded 

By my parent, dark and clouded, 
Sable mantled Night. 

To her depth Em drawn by strong desire, 
Gazing still on yonder sun-rays bright 

In the vale, she folds me from Day's fire, 
Midnight now engulfs the fading light. 

Wanderer. 

lead me on ! thou knowest well the way 

To ancient realms of darkness many miles ; 
Down to the shores untinged by sunny ray, 

Where neither morning, neither evening smiles. 

1 must forbear to view those glittering beams, 
In which reluctantly the earth is clad; 

I'm dazzled and deceived by those bright streams 

That here on earth were wont to make men glad. 
The fleeting one I strove to hold in vain, 
Doomed an eternal outcast to remain. 

Then lead me to the realms of Silent Powers, 
In whose unfathomed depth the Chaos slept, 

Ere from the darkness of those midnight bowers 
Erom out its shadows into light was swept." 

There, where Earth's bosom lieth unrevealed, 
In virgin mantle modestly adorned, 

Not by bold Daylight yet embraced, unveiled 
That wavering Phantom*, yet she had not borne 



11 



162 



GUNDERODE. 



The way of things on earth, the race of man, 
Anon accompanied by misery and pain. 

Guide. 

Wilt ask the Gods on high, 
Bearers of the earth and sky, 

The lovers of mankind? 
They who dwell in peace so blessed 
Ne'er by earthly suns are dazzled, 

Ever just of mind. 
Come, then, before my flickering life has faded, 
Ere 'neath that sable mantle I am shaded. 



Hark ! I hear the howling winds, 
Narrowing my pathway twines 

On through cliffs in dismal night. 
Hearing pent-up torrents mutter, 
I perceive with icy shudder 

That I am without a guide. 
I saw him paler, ever paler grow, 
Buried in night saw my companion go. 

Behold how hissing floods in floods are blighted, 
And roaring Elements with Elements united; 

Things in their order severed, and combined, 
The East and distant West are blended now; 
The balmy south-wind fans rough Boreas' brow, 

And enemy to enemy is joined, 
And bears him on in strong triumphant arm, 
All that is cold, in torrid heat grows warm. 

Ever downward tends the way, 
Downward, ever down I stray, 
There where silence reigns. 

Where no living color blusheth, 

Where the Elements are hushed, 
And calm Peace remains. 

Earth Spirits. 

By whose will didst thou enter this sphere, 
To disturb our ancient quiet here ? 

Wanderer. 

My restless will : What Truth is, to discover. 

Earth Spirits. 
Then wouldst thou in this night the day uncover V 

Wanderer. 

Not the same light, which on the earth abounds, 

That on the searching eye deceptive glows ; 
I seek the origin of things that Death surrounds, 

This realm, where life's true well-spring flows. 
For unpolluted treasures do I strive, 

By lustre of the upper world unstained; 
That pearl I seek, the origin of life, 

Whose deep, primordial depths I now would gain ; 



GUNDERODE. 



163 



Life, in the womb of life I will behold, 

That tenderly within its mother lies; 
Nature's economy I will unfold 

Where young creation on her bosom sighs. 

Earth Spirits. 

Know then! here sleepeth life's eternal blossom, 
Yet bound in sleep — 

To move it scarcely seems. 
Still without lips or tongue wherewith to speak, 
It cannot yet the seal of silence break ; 

Its being is but dream. 
And overcome it is, so naught that sleep may break, 
That 'tis not roused ere it be time to wake. 



Wanderer. 

Ye Spirits in the depth of Earth, 
To whom all things owe their birth, 
Disclose yourselves ! draw near ! 

Earth Spirits. 

Neither charms nor magic spell 
Are of power where we dwell; 

We dare not, dare not hear. 
Unborn Creation lieth here well hidden, 
Until by time to see the light 'tis bidden. 

Wanderer. 

Mysterious powers, I embrace ye all, 
0, cradle me in deep and tranquil sleep; 

Enshrouded in your darkest midnight pall. 
Rejoicing from the ranks of men I leap; 

Let me upon the mother bosom sink, 

Oblivion and new draughts of life to drink ! 

Earth Spirits. 

In vain, in vain ! we feel our power gone; 
It is too late, thou dost to Day belong, 

Divided art thou from life's element. 
'Tis growth, not being, that we may command. 
And thou complete, a thing that's born dost stand 

Through consciousness thou from that dream art rent. 
But know thyself, look into thine own mind: 
What here thou seekest, in thyself thou'lt find; 

The seeing, mirror of the world thou art, 
There too are midnights that will once grow bright; 
There too are powers working in the light; 

There too thou seest unfolded Nature's heart. 



Clemens wrote to Tonie that he would be here in a few 
days, and hoped to find me. I am sorry to go just as he 
comes, but cannot alter it, and would have liked to see him 
so much. Do tell him that in three weeks I shall return, 
and beg him to stay so long ; I certainly shall not delay a 
single day being very desirous to see him. Give him the 



164 



GUND ERODE. 



enclosed ; it is a poem composed some time ago, for which he 
asked me. Clemens will come over to see thee; I think 
thou wilt do well to remain at Offenbach until I return ; 
thou art happy there, and no one will put anything in thy 
way. Here fault-finders and moralists would only vex thee, 
and Clemens put many a question thou mightst find displeas- 
ing, and I do not like to have him take thee in hand. Thou 
wilt write to me, wilt thou not ? — Send thy letters to the 
Convent, from where Thursdays and Saturdays there will be 
an opportunity for them to reach me. I would like yet to 
see thee ; dost thou think George would send the cabriolet 
for me ? Wilt thou ask him about it ? What grandmamma 
tells thee of her life remember well, and were it ever so lit- 
tle, as in future it will be interesting to us. Continue to love 
me ; I will try to repay thee. Caroline. 

1st alles stumm und leer, 
Nichts macht mir Freude mehr; 
Diifte sie diiften nicht, 
Liifte sie liiften nicht; 
Mein Herz so schwer. 

1st alles 6d und hin, 
Bange mein Geist und Sinn, 
Wollte, nicht weiss ich was ? 
Jagt mich ohn' Unterlass^ 
Wiisst ich wohin ? 

Ein Bild von Meisterhand 
Hat mir den Sinn gebannt. 
Seit ich das Holde sah 
Ist's fern und ewig nah, 
Mir anverwandt. 

Ein Klang im Herzen ruht, 
Der noch erfullt den Muth 
Wie Flotenhauch ein Wort, 
Tonet noch leise fort, 
Stillt Thranenfluth. 

Friihlings Blumen treu, 
Kommen zuriick auss Neu, 
Nicht so der Liebe Gliick ; 
Ach ! es kommt nicht zuriick, 
Schon, doch nicht treu. 

Kann Lieb so unlieb sein, 
Von mir so fern was mein ? 
Kann Lust so schmerzlich sein, 
Untreu so herzlich sein, 
Worm! Pein! 



Phoenix der Lieblichkeit, 
Dich tragt dein Fittig weit 



GUXD ERODE. 



105 



Hin zu der Sonne Strahl. 
Ach, was ist dir zumal — 
Mein einsam Leid ? 



When all is dead and still, 
And naught can please the will, 
Odors are odors not, 
Breezes are wafted not, 
Pains my heart fill. 

When all is drear and done, 
Fearful my soul, and lone, 
I would, I know not what, . 
Hurried, where? I know not 
Where to be gone. 

That form, by master-hands, 
Before my vision stands ; 
Since I that bliss beheld, 
Far and yet near 'tis held 
By mighty bands. 

One tone my bosom fills 
Me with new courage thrills; 
Like the flute's sound, a word 
I softly spoken heard 
Gushing tears stills. 

Flowers of spring so true, 
All will return anew ; 
Howe'er true love may burn, 
Ah! it will ne'er return; 
Fair but not true. 

Can Love so faithless be 
To dwell so far from me? 
Can Joy so painful be, 
Heartlessly, tenderly? 
pain ! glee ! 

Phoenix of loveliness 
Soarst on the wings of bliss, 
Far to the sun's bright glow; 
Ah ! how much mayst thou know 
Of my distress? 

TO GUXD ERODE. 

Why thou wilt go to that country-seat just as we are in 
the midst of our correspondence, I do not understand ; I 
thought already to have taken root in this delightful life of 
letters, and like the ripening strawberry I felt an aromatic 
fragrance pervading me as I warmed over my writing. Thou 
art always on the move, I do not see where thou findest time 
for everything ! — When didst thou write it ? It circles in a 



166 



GUNDERODE. 



dance to its own music — so easily as though it were but 
breathed without hindrance from thy bosom. Thy poem, 
written in that toneless hour, is still melodious; it draws the 
tones from the bosom, arranging them to melodies. I like 
better, however, to linger over the first, which was composed 
later, was it not ? Thou feelst like myself that the pains of 
the soul are mostly caused by the torture of ennui. For, 
take it as thou wilt, if life would but once break for itself a 
new path, however uneven and rough, despair would have an 
end. Indeed, all pain and longing arises only because the 
straight road through life is obstructed. Do but recollect the 
travelling adventures passed through by us last winter,- — 
neither of us having a single sad moment all winter long. 
Thy desire to see the interior of Asia, threw us constantly 
among wild beasts ; tigers, lions, and elephants beset us. 
How much heat we endured in the midst of ice, not observ- 
ing how absorbed we were in this life until most people had 
coughed through the winter as one of the coldest. Dost thou 
remember when I came to thee on New- Year's Day ! The 
wheels of the state carriages were whizzing along, driven by 
powdered coachmen with red, frozen faces ; but I stepped into 
thy room, saying : Heavens ! it is so hot here in Asia that we 
fairly languish, while out before the door in Frankfort the 
icicles are hanging from the coachmen's beards. How much 
we laughed, Giinderode ; — drinking our chocolate, made on 
thy stove, heated with fragrant sandal-wood, under a cinna- 
mon-tree, when a salamander slipped into the fire changing 
to the brightest hues, and finally upsetting our chocolate pot. 
Then we milked the elephant that was sucking her calf near 
us, and made elephant-butter. I was very desirous of mak- 
ing lion-butter, but thou, being cautious, wouldst not suffer it, 
as there was danger of the lioness becoming fierce while I 
milked her. Then our adventures by the Ganges and Indus. 
The beautiful boys we met, and saw from our hiding-places 
how they washed in the holy waters and prayed ; thou saidst 
they must be boys from the temple, which we must seek near 
that spot. An avenue of tulip-trees led to it ; I discovered it, 
and we spent an hour admiring the flowers. There were 
gold-fruit trees, grapes and melons growing in lovely profu- 
sion round about the pillars of the temple to which we saw 
strange tribes of people moving, and thou saidst a hymn, 
which they were singing. Ocean of ether ! — thus began thy 



GUND ERODE. 



167 



hymn, to which I made the melody, and thou- madst me 
sing it to the guitar, listening as silently as though it were 
the song of Hindoo temples. Evenings by moonlight was 
the best time for our fancies ; we held each other by the hand 
as we mounted the hills, resting under date-trees ; thou, having 
the knowledge of the country, didst mark our travelling-route. 
We climbed a mountain called Bogdo, from whose top thou 
saidst one could overlook all the other ranges of mountains. I 
hurried before, in order to be at the top first, and called to thee 
that I saw the red Coral Sea, and the Gate of Death. But 
I was mistaken, as thou couldst prove that they were not to be 
seen, being on the coast of Africa, and the Bogdo in the 
centre of Asia. 

We were very happy ; how my head swam with the burn- 
ing colors of a world of flowers, enchanted by the odors float- 
ing about us ! — This lasted all winter, no one knowing that 
we lived in a tropical world, when one day as we were walk- 
ing in the gardens of Damascus, enraptured by the paradise 
of flowers, and intoxicated by their fragrance, we were met 
by old Herr von Hoenfeld, who brought thee the first violet, 
which he had found in his walk by the old moat outside of 
the gates. Ah, how quickly we left Damascus, and asked 
von Hoenfeld to take us to the spot were he found them, that 
we might look for more. From that time the charm was 
broken, and we laughed heartily that a violet had transported 
us so rapidly from Asia to the old fortifications of Frankfort, 
and after that we went out there on the afternoon of every 
spring-day to make wreaths, which were so becoming, and 
made thee look lovely. Thus did the least reality offer us a 
Paradise anew. Seven of these walks we took, Gunderode ; 
I counted them, they seemed to me like delights of life. Thou 
wouldst sit under the great oak, regretting thy Arabian steed, 
that thou didst not bring from Asia with thee, while I climbed 
about the cliff, always causing thee great fear lest I should 
tall. On New-Year's Day I really did roll down. It was 
icy and very smooth, I was walking with George and 
slipped ; without considering a moment he darted down and 
seized me, holding himself by a root with the other hand ; 
he was very pale and reeled, for it was with difficulty that 
he could keep his footing. When we reached the top he 
said : " We would both have been dashed to pieces, for I 
should have been precipitated after thee, had not God inter- 



168 



GUND ERODE. 



posed." Till then I was not frightened at all, for I am so heed- 
less that I never perceive danger ; but when I found how ray 
brother's life had hung by mine on a thread, which it pleased 
God not to break, I was much agitated. How brothers and 
sisters cling to one another like members of one body, one 
rushing after the other into an abyss ; one saving the other ! 
May I never forget to be thankful for my brother ! What 
was it I would tell thee ! — that the thought first came to me 
then, how we but used up life as best we might. I found 
that we think so rapidly that time lags after without fulfill- 
ing ; and that melancholy flows from this source alone, which 
can find no other vent. The world must be full of that which 
develops our life ; if deeds came and outstripped our longing, 
that we need not always wring our hands at the slow pace of 
life — dost thou not feel it too — that would be true health, 
and we would learn to part from that which we love, and 
learn to rear worlds to rejoice the depths of the soul. Thus 
it should be, for there is much work in the world, and to 
me at least nothing seems in the right place. And I tell no 
one but thee : it seems ever as though I must subvert the 
world ; indeed, so do I take it to heart that in my dreams I 
often look where God can have placed the sceptre for me, 
with which I would lighten confusion. Only one thing taken 
hold of at the right end draws many more after it, that would 
of their own accord fall into the proper order, if they have 
only for a while been obliged to do right. I conclude thus: 
if they take root so strongly in the unmatured, how much 
more firmly and vigorously would they stand in the soil that 
feeds their higher nature ! Should I be wrong ? 

The human soul listens to the mandates of God in its own 
voice — listens to the sacred primordial philosophy that 
without teaching becomes revelation to every one who wor- 
ships truth with unerring will. Thou hast said this thy- 
self, they are thy own words. How often in solitude have I 
prayed for truth, — and how unattainably beyond the stars is 
perfection, and the time may not be when we feel it present. 
O better days, where are ye ? Oh, come to meet us, and let 
us not tarry for ye, that in the end we pass by but as 
shadows ! Let us serve ye, ye days who are to bear over 
the spirit of love, let us help ye silently and secretly to land, 
and receive the genius who alone must sway ! So do I speak 
to the dawn that awakens me, and think meanwhile of thee 



GUXDERODE. 



169 



and me. What are the bonds of friendship, -what coexist- 
ence and the exchange of thoughts, if a third divine one 
does not descend to revive life ? Ah, distinctly it is written 
in my breast, — calm and collected the spirit must be, — that 
I know, — the sick heart is often impatient, but the spirit 
ministers to it, and there must be a point where, by the me- 
dium of this very spirit, it becomes reconciled to all suffering. 
Think of this when thou art sorely oppressed, and remember 
that by inspiration we fulfil the highest missions on earth, 
and that it springs from joy as well as pain. Come what 
may. we are to mould ourselves to heroes, and buy our free- 
dom by pain as well as joy. The field of fate seems to me 
like a flower-garden of God, in which each bud expands in 
its peculiar color ; the wise gardener giving shade, moisture, 
and a hard soil to the one, sunlight and soft rich mould to the 
other, according as each one requires to perfect its blossom. 
And the blossoming, is not that the fulfilment of all our long- 
ing ? Then let us love life because it brings us this blossom, 
and think that the cloud above only empties itself over us to 
wash away the dust, and that the sun will smile on us anew. 
I am sad ; thou art ever in my mind, thy song grieves me. 
Ah, it awakens melodies, but such painful ones, that in their 
music I feel the echo of thy woe and am ashamed of having 
been so gay all this time, plucking flowers by every path, 
throwing them at thee in jest and wilfulness. That was not 
learning to love well, when I moved out here to dedicate my- 
self to this school. What shall I tell Clemens when he begins 
to -peak of my education ? I anticipate much pleasure from his 
visit, it will make up for thy running away ; I dislike to 
think that thou hast intercourse with so many persons, with 
whom 1 cannot speak an unwise word. How my sight and 
hearing are curtailed since thy departure ! It was only last 
night that my antiquated cousin put out my lamp, saying 
I must not write all night, else she will tell grandmamma 
how I ruin my health ; 1 had placed a box-cover before the 
light, that she might not perceive it, but she got at it some 
way. I said to her : thou old centenarian, what wilt thou 
with me in this world, thou canst not possibly live another 
century, else we would go together. — " No, if thou goest on 
thus we can take quarters together, but I shall outlive thee 
a hundred times." 

1 had to submit, the lamp was out; but I took her in my 



170 



GUNDERODE. 



arras and carried her and her little lantern down-stairs into 
her great leather-covered arm-chair. At first she screamed, 
for fear I would throw her down-stairs, but in the midst of 
the danger fear made her silent ; when she was safely landed 
in her chair she began to scold, but I took her feather-bed 
and throwing it on her head, ran off, and she certainly will 
not come again. Although it was late, I would have liked to 
go on writing about things I have now forgotten, and to-day 
the thought haunts me that thou wilt not find my letter in the 
accustomed place. 

Grandmamma had an attack of vertigo yesterday. I have 
not asked to be taken back to Frankfort, and do not want to 
go ; what shall I do there as long as thou art confiscated by 
thy Haidens, Holzhausens, and Nees. I believed, yes truly I 
believed, that I was dearer to thee than all the others, and that 
thou wert as earnest about our religious revolution as I am. 
It seemed as though God had ordained we should not be 
together, and yet so near that we could receive each other's 
letters each day, thus much was brought to paper that would 
only have been chatted over. 

Who can help it ! — - day after to-morrow thou goest to 
Wiirzburg, which lies outside of the world, leaving me 
behind to languish on the dove-cot. If thou art good, then, 
come to the Tanner's mill at seven to-morrow morning. Do 
not come here, because grandmamma is ill, and I am mostly 
in her anteroom ; but as I do not go to her until ten o'clock, 
to-morrow I can be with thee until then ; I shall go to the mill 
at six, George will send the carriage for thee, I wrote to him 
about it. Behind the mill, in the long hedge-path on the 
stone by the cross, we will sit down together a little while. 
Thou canst return to town, or send the cabriolet back and 
return by water, which I would rather have thee do, so thou 
wilt not feel uneasy to keep the carriage waiting as long as I 
want thee. Oh, last Sunday I went on a water-excursion 
with Jeannot and Darwille in Bernard's boat, behind the 
ship with the music. All were engaged in jest and love- 
chat between the pauses of the music, but I took no part ; 
the gardener sat at the helm, and I did not care to pain him ; 
he sported fine white shirt-sleeves and my handkerchief tied 
round his neck. 

BETTINE. 



GENDER ODE. 



171 



TO GUND ERODE AT WURZBURG. 

As I know that thou art living out of the world now, I 
have begun a different life, and my mind has changed very 
much. 

I want to go out into the world too ; yes, I have a great 
desire to get away. I have never been on the top of a high 
mountain, from which one can overlook the world, in my life, 
and yet I overlook the world in my soul. — Thou art dissat- 
isfied with me that I will always know better, and yet I do 
know better, and am not to blame that better things come 
into my mind. My consciousness seems to me like a song of 
my soul, to which I listen with pleasure, and sometimes, when 
I do not know a thing, it seems as though I had only forgot- 
ten it, having already once known it. Only at little things 
my wits are sometimes at a stand-still ; for instance, yester- 
day over a horse-chestnut, which I took from its green shell ; 
there were three chestnuts inside closely laid together, not yet 
ripe and perfectly white, and it seemed to me as if I must 
learn by force what all these shapes signify ; for certain it is 
that all creation was produced by the Holy Ghost. It is 
impossible that a shape exist, that did not come forth from 
the word of God, " Let there be." I think that which issues 
from the eternal power of creation must have a language of 
its own, namely, it must express and answer itself. Must not 
thy life find an expression, else it is nothing? Thus God 
converses with whom he loves, — only in love's words. — 
What, indeed, is this language but love, and all form and 
shape in nature but an expression of this love ? The lan- 
guage of love, then, is the language of God. God is the 
loving one. Is God individual ? — has he features ? — can I 
give him my hand ? — and where can I find him to speak 
with him in love's language ? My love for mankind is pity, 
because I mourn for them that they are not different from 
what they are. — Love I believe to be only the language of 
God. I am conscious of knowing everything, but I cannot 
always find it, and seek everything in myself, and this is a 
conversation with God. That is love's language, too, when 
I lie down on my face in the grass and listen to the brook as 
it flows on beside me : how much that speaks, to which it 
must give answer ! I stretch my arms above my head into 
the cool grass and ask of my soul all I would know. Then 



172 



GUNDERODE. 



answer is made, but I cannot directly frame it into words ; 
but is there not a language without words ? And love is but 
the language of the Deity. What else shall it be ? Ques- 
tion, and sweet answer, could I ever cease longing for ye, I 
would be dead to myself. The soul that sympathizes most 
deeply with mine, that longingly answers, and asks again to 
be answered, that must I love. To desire to know is already 
knowledge ; it is contemplation, and by contemplating I re- 
ceive a distinct impression, which is knowledge. How can a 
human being desire to be anything but a lover ? How was 
this suggested ? By our conversation at the Tanner's mill 
this morning. If I was silent, I assure thee it was only 
because words did not seem tuneful enough ; I look into my 
soul for sound, and when I wish to say anything, I do not 
find a tone that harmonizes ; thou canst believe I leave much 
unsaid, because I cannot find expression sufficiently noble for 
it. Through music I learnt to feel that man is filled by the 
spirit, but that he cannot find the melody in which to express 
it. The transfiguration of each thought is music, that must 
be language ; all language must be music ; by this the spirit 
becomes manifest, not by the sense, that becomes mere love- 
words, by this music of language. Spirit is greater than 
man, who constantly strives to attain its height. Can he ex- 
press it, then he is himself translated into spirit. Spirit is 
music; then too must the language, by means of which we 
are united with it, be music. How can we in an unworthy 
form at the same time comprehend it through our senses? — 
Spirit is wedded to beauty, and only as beauty it is spirit. 
All noble deeds, all greatness is but a poem of the spirit. 
Ah, I stretch my hands to heaven and desire something 
else than the deeds of men, for well I know that my idle- 
ness is sin. What shall I do to arouse myself? Devo- 
tion to art, says Clemens ! — that is only because he does not 
know me within, and with how much I have to struggle. I 
take that to be my most prominent talent which is most easily 
roused and most absorbing. — Now, although I do not like to 
study Universal History, and can scarcely contain my impa- 
tience while reading the papers, yet it is the world I would 
rule, and irresistibly I am impelled to think of it. When 
thou writest to Clemens, thou canst tell him that it seems to 
be my most decided talent to rule the world ; and if he knows 
an opportunity to practise me in it, I will apply myself day 



GTTNDERODE. 



173 



and night. Thoughts of government already rob me of sleep, 
and look at the world as I may, I would like to overturn it. 
For a long time all I experienced in life affected me in a 
wooden, mechanical way. Thus my religious instruction 
stupefied me completely. For instance, the doctrine : With 
what weapons to combat heresy, w r ith what principles to op- 
pose it ? — there the heretic, w r eapon, and faith, all seemed like 
nonsense ; and had I not taken refuge in not thinking at all, 
I should have become a fool. Men really are nothing but 
fools, and I believe that my conviction of this, and without 
much ado treating them accordingly, has emancipated me 
from folly. How indeed shall we free ourselves from the 
slough of Philistinedom but by placing ourselves anew into 
the hands of God, who has not in vain created man from 
clay, so that he need but breathe upon and moisten him, in 
order to knead him over anew, returning to him his pure, 
pristine form ? 

By what do we recognize a Catholic Christian ? — by the 
sign of the Holy Cross ! This aroused the first refractory 
spark in my mind ; for why need natural man be a Catholic 
Christian, and cross himself? is that the nearest way to be- 
come like God ? is God a Catholic Christian ? or is he like 
thee and me a heretic ? — and why do we cross ourselves but 
to show our teeth to the heretic, like curs ? When we were 
called home from the convent to our paternal house, the 
Prioress sent for us to her presence, and enjoined us not to 
leave the Catholic Faith on returning to our grandmother, 
who was a Lutheran lady, but rather to try all in our power 
to convert her. She said this with so much warmth of heart 
that I would readily have promised, but did not know what 
the Catholic Faith was. So I helped myself thus : All that 
is not Lutheran is Catholic ; everything we must learn is to 
wrap the mind in a mantle of mist, so that we cannot be illu- 
mined by truth, and all we do in consequence is folly. 
Listening to the opinions of intellectual men, which is 
grandmamma's passion, seems like thrashing chaff — dear 
grandmamma ! " Thou canst not deny, dear child, that they 
understand the world, and are called to direct it," she said 
yesterday. Oh, no, dear grandmamma ; it rather strikes me 
that I am called to do it. " Go to thy bed and sleep ! thou 
art a queer little thing ! " All sorts of politics are being dis- 
cussed at grandmamma's every evening among the Emigrants, 



174 



GUNDERODE. 



and an overthrow of the great world-pumpkin is essayed on 
all sides : they seem to think it is rotting. Besides Choiseil, 
Ducailas, and D'Allaris, who always take the lead, two others 
came yesterday, a Mons. de Marcelange, and Varicourt, the 
latter particularly handsome and of noble bearing, so that I 
could not for a moment believe he could ever harbor in- 
congruous ideas. He addressed himself constantly to me, as 
though desirous of my approbation, " ai-je-raison?" and his 
remarks made quite an impression on me. He had come to 
Frankfort as escort to a Duchess of Bouillon, (Hesse-Bothen- 
burg) and a Princess of Biron, who both visited grandmam- 
ma this afternoon ; and Count Catalan introduced him to her. 
Grandmamma did not permit politics to be discussed as 
usual, because most of the Emigrants are of separate opin- 
ions ; and later she told me that this Varicourt was the brother 
of the one who was murdered as garde du roi on the 6th of 
October, 1790, in Versailles, before the door of the Queen's 
chamber, while calling out to her to save herself, as this was 
the last service he could render her. Shortly after, grand- 
mamma met his mother in Switzerland, where she lived near 
Nyon in a ruined manor, inhabiting one of the sombre halls, 
that served in the capacity of kitchen at the same time, being 
carefully covered with old woollen hangings, and furnished 
with an old couch, upon which lay the hat of her son, with 
its white cockade, a few straw chairs, a huge hearth with a 
very small fire of vine fagots, over which a small kettle of 
water was boiling for the old lady's tea, and a great cat 
sleeping at her feet ; high, narrow windows, lighting up the 
ruined dwelling of a decayed family. The old lady showed 
her the hat, saying, " There was a time when this white 
ribbon called all France to allegiance to its king," &c. I liked 
to listen to grandmamma as long as she told me this ; but she 
brought in v so many other things that seemed to have no con- 
nection with it ; for instance, she spoke of a herd of cattle 
which was driven together to be shot, on account of a disease 
that had broken out among them. They wailed and plunged 
violently at the first shots, but after the bull was killed, not 
one of the cows resisted, all awaiting death quietly; com- 
posed : the Emigrants and their king. Then grandma expa- 
tiated largely on invaluable people ; on silk manufacture ; 
how three hundred and sixty cocoons went to one ounce of 
silk, two thousand eight hundred and ninety-three to one 



GUND ERODE. 



175 



pound, so many simmers (quarts) to spin five pounds ; they 
eat too many mulberry-leaves, were fed on lettuce, spinage, 
and currant leaves ; liked to eat it ; spun very well, only 
that the silk was slightly greenish-yellow. Then she told 
me something about the life of St. Jutta, who had studied 
natural history and psychology. This brought her to Mira- 
beau ; and when I went to bed, my head was so confused 
that I could think of nothing pleasant, and went directly to 
sleep. How it must look in grandmamma's head ! — so much 
strung together, to which no one can find a key. I wonder 
if I am so too ? The house now is never empty of remarka- 
ble people ; all the French journals are read -and discussed, 
and against my will I must take part in their jests about the 
court, court-state, dress, livery, uniforms, ornaments and laces 
of the female suite ; everything is talked over, and then the 
general amnesty of thirty days, to free the French from the 
devil's claws. I stand among the disputants as in a hail- 
storm ; Protestant, Philosopher, Encyclopaedist, Enlightener, 
Democrat, Jacobin, Terrorist, Homme de sang, — all are pour- 
ing down upon me, and all can be understood in the same 
way. — " Down from above they have mistaken views, and 
below it is all malice and untruth from those who climb 
* after," said Varicourt, remarking on the enormous flatteries 
swallowed by Bonaparte : " Ce n'est pas du bon style que 
d'avaler de si gros mensonges, la veracite est le seule moyen de 
cultiver la nature humaine; pour la grandeur il y fait faute, 
il n'a point le sens celeste pour l'avenir pour lequel seul 
s'immolera un grand coeur ; il est le grand monstre de la 
mediocrite encombrant un monde qui s'ignore soi-meme." 
The emigrants listened to him as solemnly as though he 
were speaking from the pulpit. " Nous n'avons que trop bien 
pu comprendre ce que c'est que l'esprit regenerateur, ce n'est 
que lachete que de nous soumettre a une tyrannie, qui a 
recours aux moyens puerils dont se sert Buonaparte pour 
captiver une nation qui a sacrifie son meilleur sang pour la 
liberte, c'est une juste punition pour avoir attente au sang 
inviolablement sacre des rois, que de n'avoir pas reconnu ce 
que le grand genie de Mirabeau nous avait prophetise. La 
revolution fait la premiere des lois etait d'honnorer la loi, 
mais point cet expedient des tetes bornees, qui pour main- 
tenir leur pouvoir, ne font que faire trembler ; il faut gagner 
les coeurs, et puis c'est si facile ! le peuple et deja reconnais- 



176 



GUNDERODE. 



sant si ses superieurs ne lui font pas tout le mal qui est en 
leur pouvoir ; ce n'est que la betise qui punit, la veritable 
grandeur pre vient les fautes ; c'est abuser du pouvoir que d'agir 
autrement, il est maladroit de ne point se servir des homrnes 
tels qu'ils sont, c'est la sagesse qui est souveraine, elle ex- 
ploite le bien du mal, mais non pas en tranchant les tetes ! 
Les lois doivent etre tracees par le genie de l'hurnanite, ce 
que Buonaparte ne fera jamais." 

I too would gladly step over the trash of human arma- 
ment, tear the apple of dissension from their hands, and give 
them self-contemplation instead. Is it not indeed the only 
aim of human nature that it learn to develop itself ? and is 
truth not the secret from whence this self-development issues ? 
Thus, if a sovereign could emerge from within himself to the 
pure light of truth, would he not regenerate humanity ? 

I ask thee ! consider if I am not right ; I have a dim idea 
as if from the spirit of one the regeneration of all must 
come forth. Now I should not be at all embarrassed to 
undertake this boldly, as no harm can be done, because 
everything that seems to thrive and grow is yet sunk in the 
slough of stupidity, and it is so great a privilege to be wiser. 
How is it possible that we should not come to reason, when 
we see that all around us is folly ? Lies not the impulse in 
a healthy human mind to develop the idea of a divine hu-^ 
manity within itself, and does thought take any other but this 
ideal direction ? Has the man been born whose task it was 
not to produce his own ideal ? And if this is so, why shall 
not every innocent human being be sufficiently important to 
communicate my thoughts to him ? None need accuse me of 
confusing and jumbling everything together ; there is some- 
thing which no one comprehends, from which I do not devi- 
ate, and my mind forms its own transitions. — As soon as 
the pure will is within us to seek the divine, we have the 
religion of which 1 alone believe that it can develop man ; 
for independently of himself, it is the fulfilling God that 
speaks from within him, and this alone it is that seems to me 
religion. As from a perfect seed everything is formed as it 
must be, according to organic law, I am also certain that in a 
spirit only receiving the divine for its own sake, the develop- 
ment will logically follow, and nothing in human action will 
give me offence. Action compared to thought is nothing, 
for the thought itself is God, while action is only conforming 



Cr UNDER ODE. 



177 



to God. If, then, in my thoughts I seek, perceive, and expe- 
rience God, how can I be at a loss about acting, about 
ruling ? For why should he who inhales, not also exhale ? 
The mind of man must not deviate in its ends ; it must 
have one sacred aim. Man is ever to himself a principal by 
end ; therefore he must entirely deny, in order to attain him- 
self : this sounds very contrary, but still it is true. The true 
ideal of man is the most rigid denial of self, and from this 
alone wisdom will spring in all actions demanded by fate. 
To this same self-denial we are entitled to summon all men, 
for, be the result of such action what it may, they act in con- 
formity with God, and that is religion, over which to make 
the cross, be it heretic, heathen, or Jew. ... A divine mind, 
for the invisible, infinite, from which alone all true religion 
comes, for by this alone is it led to the Deity. All this occurs 
to me as I am carrying out my conversation with the French- 
man in my mind. I need only happen on a nature that 
seems fascinating to me, when directly I am full of instruc- 
tive thoughts, as though they were awakened by the contact. 
This Frenchman, with his noble deportment, rouses one trans- 
port after another within me, and I believe there is not a 
question I could not answer as soon as I am convinced he 
listens. Xo deed I do not feel bravery enough within me to 
accomplish, if he but looked on ; but be the incentive what it 
may, it certainly is something great, something divine, that 
man, when approached by the godlike, perceives the beau- 
tiful and great, harmonizes with it so that the fire of his 
enthusiasm burst- into flames. Ah, I see myself already in 
battle riding beside him on a white steed, amid the thunder 
and smoke of cannon ; and in the confusion of great, deci- 
sive moments relying on his unerring eye, 1 successfully 
achieve the utmost. Still more I think: everything glowing 
ambition dare undertake flashes through my soul ; 1 expe- 
rience it, I am happy, joyous, jubilant in success ; the people 
crowd about rejoicing with me, awaiting that I sprinkle ovei 
them the balsam of freedom. All this 1 experience with 
the Frenchman, who develops himself a hero before my eyes. 
I would like to know, if, taking all experiences together, those 
of the imagination would not be allowed to pass, for they 
heat and damaskeen the soul by this fine steel of inspira- 
tion, so that it is forged and moulded together with it, being- 
finer than any other polish, better for use, more tenacious 
12 



178 



GUND ERODE. 



firmer, yielding to and following the force of the will. Firm, 
courageous deeds, power of action — must not that have its 
seed implanted in the soul ? is it not seed itself? Methinks, 
to have thought a thing is to plant seed in the soil of the 
soul, that will penetrate to the light and expand, sooner or 
later. 

Here the door opened, and Clemens entered. What joy — 
it strengthens and flashes inwardly. When I have lost rea- 
son, and seek it on the white, barren walls, without finding it, 
I need but look into Clemens' beautiful large eyes, and there 
I find it. Thou say est thou canst not look into his eye, 
because he has a consuming glance ; not so I. I draw joy 
from it, and something I cannot define, of untranslatable liv- 
ing nutriment. Above all things, I would like to become 
master of my own thoughts, in order to fill out my time with 
living (life-giving) thoughts. There is a thinking that we 
pass over, and one we experience. How collect myself, that 
my mind is ever bent on experiencing ? This alone, and my 
ascension to heaven is certain. 

Sleep can be brought into relation with thought ; sleep 
that arises from thought is again capable of producing think- 
ing powers. Thus can the thoughtful mind create itself. 
Penetrate everywhere with the mind, and evil is dispelled, 
for it is too weak and narrow to comprehend mind. I am 
astonished at my own thoughts ! Things I have never ex- 
perienced, that 1 have never learnt, or perhaps rather the 
contrary of them, stand forth clearly and distinctly in my 
mind. Can I know but what I am possessed of a spirit ? 
Is not, perhaps, being possessed a giving up of our individu- 
ality, and are the refractory ones who resist the spirit not 
stronger than those penetraied by it ? Does strength con- 
sist in yielding ? Are not many things in the spirit and 
mind the influence of other worlds ? Love, passion, are 
they not power of attraction of the Sun ? 

Clemens and I sat upon the garden-steps and chatted of 
many things. ' k What you argue is all very pretty," he said, 
" but do not become erratic, it frightens me sometimes to 
think what will become of you ; you divide your soul, with 
which you could gain such glorious freedom. Can you not 
turn your five senses to one thing and comprehend that en- 
tirely. When you speak, you are intelligent and give the 
solution to much of w T hich the philosophers know nothing. 



r 



GUND ERODE. 



179 



Do write something. — have ypu not promised me some chil- 
dren's stories ? — Write down your life in the Convent, you 
can tell it so well. What are you carrying on with Giinde- 
rode. are you studying with her ? I feel great anxiety about 
you. and it -ometimes makes me wring my hands to think 
that the grace of your mind is left a prey to the winds." 

Dear Clemens, I had to kiss him in the still twilight upon 
his fair white brow shining beneath the dark curls, for his 
love to me. It grew windy, and we both sat wrapt in his 
cloak, watching the clouds as they swept by, and Clemens 
said so much about thee, with which I know thou wilt be 
pleased. He says thou art clear as the mo >r, and thy 
flighty, unsettled manner at times is but as clouds passing 
over and obscuring the moon, but thou thyself w T ert pure, 
poetic light, penetrating the senses : the sound of thy poems 
was like music of the soul ; and this was but the prelude of 
the soul's concert, because ever and on all sides melodies 
were unfolding. It was so noble he said to devote one's self 
thus to an inward life, and I could and should collect my- 
self too. so as not to throw away my mind and live my life 
unworthily. What dost thou think I said to all this ? 

— nothing ! — I felt afraid for a moment to be so forsaken 
by myself, and that my spirit will not take heed of me, 
roving out into the distance, seeking obscure blossoms like a 
bee. of which it sips, but honey it will not make, it wastes 
everything itself But as the bee makes honey by instinct 
and my spirit does not, I do not think it will want to winter 
where it ha- laid up no store ; it belongs into the land of eter- 
nal spring. Clemens has just gone back to town, and the 
skies are darkly overcast, — now it rains violently already, 

— 1 wonder if he has got home ? In a few days he goes 
to Mayenee and Coblenz by water ; he travels on the Rhine 
for three weeks, so thou wilt see him too. bettixe. 

I had to promise him that on his return I would have some- 
thing written, ready for him. I shall never discover more 
plainly how the world is nailed up with boards than in an at- 
tempt to write a book, especially when Clemens speaks of an 
open future, and tells me that I shall never enjoy it, if I do not 
write a book ! A book is thick and has many empty pages, and 
I cannot grasp wherewithal to fill it from the air, and it strikes 
me that this very thing is putting a fetter upon my freedom. 



180 



GUND ERODE, 



When I sit down at my pine writing-table, and nothing extraor- 
dinary comes into my mind, I cut one grimace after the other 
into the table, so that all laugh at me, because I can think of 
nothing ; then I throw aside my book containing nothing but 
the beginnings of verses, without a rhyme. It is really an 
impossibility. I would do anything in my power, for Clemens' 
sake, but once for all, thoughts I have none ; there were 
other people before me, I came last, so that say what I would, 
they have all experienced it before me. Once this spring I 
went to walk with Clemens, and found a variety of newly 
sprouted herbs, that I did not know and wanted to gather, 
but he said : " If you sit down by every catkin and forget- 
me-not, we cannot go far." I always think of this when I 
experience anything new in myself, and that others probably 
know it already, and will find nothing new in it, as in those 
violets and daisies I wanted to gather by the way-side. 
Therefore I did not write them down, and because, too, my 
thoughts cling to me only as butterflies do to flowers, who 
will catch them ? They perceive it directly and fly away ; if 
I do catch one, its beautiful color is soon marred by the ink, 
or its wings droop. Thoughts flutter so merrily in the air, 
but on paper they cannot rock as on a flower, and cannot 
flit from rose to rose, but sit fast, as though pinned down. I 
can see this by the few 1 have caught and written. I hap- 
pened to be just at the end of the garden and ran quickly into 
the house to write down a thought before I forgot it, and now, 
as often as I open the book, the thought laughs at me and 
tells me how stupid I am. I will tear the leaf out for thee 
where thou canst read the thoughts I have caught like hares 
on my scanty chase, running home with each one separately 
from my'little thought-forest to write it down, and always 
up three flights of stairs. Do not think that the three flights 
were too high" for me, but I was ashamed before those stairs, 
and really shut my eyes because I was afraid they might re- 
mark what a beggarly mind I had to bring home those poor 
naked thought-Pfeilmutker, for so they call butterflies in 
the Tyrol. I learnt that from the Tyrolese at the Fair, who 
sells gloves at Braunfels ; you know, the one with the hand- 
some black beard, of whom thou saidst he has a countenance 
and not a face. What is a countenance ? thou informedst me 
that it was by the hand of God, created after his own image ; 
but that faces were only imitations at which nature did not 



GUXD ERODE. 



181 



wish to be present, allowing the Philistines to create them- 
selves. Then I asked thee, Have I a countenance ? and 
thou laugh est. saying, ,4 It is yet wrapt so closely in the bud 
that I cannot recognize it." That same evening I stood be- 
fore my glass and prayed to God that he might let me out 
of the bud with a countenance, and not with a face, for if I 
have no countenance, how can I please a countenance ? On 
that evening, too. I inquired of Frau Hoch, because nurses 
often know a good deal about cosmetics. She told me that 
if I committed no sin I would never be plain, and I thought if 
that depended upon it. I would surely beware of sin ; but when 
Frau Hoch went down to make some gruel for the baby, I 
climbed out upon the flower-stand before the window, and 
crouched down as low as I could ; when she returned she 
found the room empty ; it was dark too, for lights had not 
been brought. Hoch thought she was alone and was about to 
say her prayers because the little one still slept. " Now I 
enter into everlasting life, spake he, bowed his head and ex- 
pired." This is what I heard of Hoch's prayer in my 
hiding-place, for I was just thinking if it were not wrong 
thus to watch her, when it occurred to me that my counte- 
nance-bud might be attacked by the mildew of evil ; I was 
wise enough, to be sure, to know that 1 was committing no 
capital sin, yet as I de.-ired to be perfectly beautiful without 
a blemish, I held my ears with both hands, but in doing so 
was obliged to let go the bar of the stand and nearly fell into 
the yard below. As I could not hold my ears without fall- 
ing ; I still heard her sing : 

Wenn der guldene Morgen blinkt, 
Der zu dieser Hochzeit winkt. 
Wo die reinen Seraph inen 
Bei der hohen Tafe] dienen. 

When the goiden morning calls, 
Beckoning to those nuptial halls, 
Where the Seraphs, spotless crowd, 
Serve us at the kingly board. 

I joined singing also. Hoch looked about her into the cor- 
ners, got a lamp, looked behind the stove, the curtains, every- 
where, and could not find me. I stood erect in the window, 
which I opened and handed her a carnation I had plucked. 
There she stood with her little wax taper shining upon me, 



182 



GUND ERODE. 



taking me for an apparition. I threw my arms about her 
neck, for I am very fond of Hoch, and asked if it were a sin 
to have listened. She said, " No, it's not exactly a sin-; but 
you might have fallen down into the yard, and we had bet- 
ter sing a song of thanks that you were not hurt." 

Der du das Land mit Dunkel pflegst zu decken, 
Ach reine mich von jedem leisen Flecken, 
Reich mir der Schonheit Kleid ; 
Dass ich an jedem Morgen meiner Bliithe 
Erkennen mag wie deine Gnad sie hiite. 

Obschon die Sonne entzogen ihre Wangen, 
Obschon ihr Gold der Erde ist entgangen, 
Das kranket mich nicht mehr. 
Erleucht in mir nur deines Geistes Licht, 
Dadurch der Schonheit Geist wird aufgericht. 

Kann ich des Nachts gleich nicht zura Schlafen kommen, 

So mag dies meiner Schonheit dennoch frommen, 

Das endet wenn man stirbt. 

Gieb nur, Gott,.dass ich so Nacht wie Tag 

Der Schonheit Ruhe mir erhalten mag. 

Wenn du mich willst, Schopfer, einst geniessen, 
Muss iibermich der Born der Schonheit fliessen, — 
Wie wollt ich frohlich sein ! 
- Sonst acht ich Nichts was Muth und Blut beliebt, 
Noch was die Welt, noch was der Himmel giebt. 

Thou who in night art wont to clothe the Earth, 
Make pure my heart from stain of sinful mirth, 
Clothe me in beauteous garb. 
That I each morning of my budding days 
May learn to see the mercy of thy ways. 

Although the sun obscures its radiant face, 
Although the gold hath vanished with its rays, 
The darkness grieves me not. 
Yetflasheth in my soul Thy Spirit's light, 
Wherein my inward beauty groweth bright. 

If sleep will not enfold me in his arms, 
May yet my inward beauty not be harmed, 
Death endeth worldly pangs. 

Grant me, God ! throughout this night and day, 
Serenest beauty while on earth I stay. 

That when I end, I may to thee aspire, 
Light up my beauty in Thy holy fire, 
In blissful happiness ! 

Naught else I heed for which man strives and lives, 
Naught that the Earth or even Heaven gives. 

• Hoch said, " You have made a fine heresy of that song ; 
no one will take it for a hymn." — But I sung it with real de- 



GUNDERODE. 



183 



votion ; yet if it is sinful, we will sing a hymn of penance, for 
fear I might in the end have a beard. — " For my part, I think 
you would be very well pleased to have a beard." 

Next morning Tonie went to the Tyrolese, and I accom- 
panied her in order to impress myself with his countenance. 
For, thought I, if we write a thing deeply into our heart, it 
will bloom there in the end. While Tonie was selecting her 
gloves, a butterfly came fluttering across the Maine, and 
alighted on the nosegay on his hat. Ah, see ! the butterfly on 
your hat ; he was allured by the flowers ! " What sort of a 
thing is a butterfly ? " asked the Tyrolese, and exclaimed as 
he saw it fly, " Ei ! that is a Pfeilmuther, and no butter- 
fly. Thou art a butterfly," he added, putting his arm round 
my neck and kissing me on the mouth. Tonie made an an- 
gry face, and left her gloves. " Na," he called after her, 
" don't take offence, Miss ; you see the little girl don't mind 
it." This made Tonie laugh, and she turned to purchase her 
gloves. I've always wanted to write down this story, but for 
a book it is too short and will not do, because there is nothing 
else to happen. Clemens says I shall write down whatever 
enters my head ; he thinks that's like a market-place. I am 
to write all about the Convent ; but do read the foolish 
thoughts that I put down in my book, and say yourself if it 
is possible to add anything more to them. Besides, I have 
written everything on the inside of the cover, because I 
thought I should want all the room. I need not have done 
so, as I've got no further than the cover these four w r eeks. 
Thus it begins : " Could not Virtue also be called Genius, 
and do we climb to the sublime so slowly and heavily, but 
because we have no genius ? " 

This was thought on the poplar which I can climb so 
easily. I saw how the birds flew up, and thought within me: 
Thou hast no Genius, but must slowly and wearily climb to 
everything, and must come down after all, not being able to 
hold thyself. Then I distinctly felt how unsteady and unat- 
tainable everything is within me ; how a fire burns within, 
and every art lies so near that I could grasp it, and my 
cheeks glow and burn when J think of the distance with its 
golden mountains. I stand as though I carried the magic 
wand in my hand ; all within me is spirit ; but when it is to 
manifest itself, I stick to the book-cover and wearily carry in 
grain for grain of sand. When I had got down from the 



184 



GTJNDERODE. 



poplar and up the stairs, to put clown my first paper-thought 
that is grinning at me yet, I still feel like rocking myself 
awhile in the sunset, for rocking gives me thoughts. But 
hardly had I got up the poplar half way when I thought of 
something else, so I quickly clambered down and ran up- 
stairs to write : Man must be in harmony with himself ; one 
with head, heart, hand, and tongue. 

I stood still awhile before my production, and thought I 
might as well have kept my seat in the tree for all it was 
worth, and regretted that I had blotted my book with it. But 
because Clemens tells me to write everything down that 
passes through my head, I meant to carry it out. How I am 
pleased with this thought, and can make something great of 
it if I give it a sublime interpretation, thus verifying every- 
thing I write by force without knowing why ! Yes, I feel 
that this one is connected with the first thought ; indeed it is 
the genius of virtue if man be in harmony with himself ; and 
certain it is that most men are not. 

Ah, there, I do not want a moral to cross my way ; I'd 
rather go on writing down my thoughts ; then I shall paste 
something over the cover not to see them any more. By and 
by, perhaps, I may think of something else that is not so hard 
to get at. Well, I mounted my poplar once more, for it 
seemed to me that only up there I could think. But hardly 
was I up when I had to come down again, really feeling in- 
spired. I ran up my three flights of stairs with joy : " To 
feed the mind, that is religion." Ha, if I could only do that, 
I thought, as I was again seated on my poplar, not intending 
to come down again, because it was very beautiful to see the 
sky red with the sunset, and the myriad air-crystals shooting 
purple rays. 

How much have I seen of colors and waving tree-tops, of 
blended tints and brightness in the distance, and how kind 
Nature was to me, just as though I never denied her by my 
nonsense on paper ! 

All independent thought seems to me like sin, when I am 
surrounded by nature ; had one not better listen to her ? I 
know thou thinkest that thought is derived by listening to it, 
but no, that is very different. When I watch Nature, for 
listening I will not call it, as it is more than the ear can com- 
pass ; but the soul can watch. Seest thou, I feel everything 
as it passes within her ; I feel the sap that rises up into the 



G UNDER ODE. 



185 



top of the trees, rising in my blood. I stand thus and 
listen, and then I perceive, — not exactly think, at least not 
that I am aware, — but wait and hear how it goes on. All 
that I look upon, I suddenly perceive, — just as though I were 
Nature itself, or rather everything she produces ; blades of 
grass as they shoot up out of the earth, this I feel to the very 
root ; all flowers and all buds I feel differently. If I look at 
the great rose-bush on the Tnselberg, the flowers all faded, yet 
putting forth new shoots ; all this reaches my heart by some- 
thing, shall I call it language ? With what then does one touch 
the soul ? is that language not the love that touches the soul as 
man is touched by a kiss ? Perhaps it is ; then that which I ex- 
perience of Nature is certainly language, for it kisses my soul ; 
what else should it be if it were not this ! now pay attention : 

" To kiss is the form, and to receive within us what we 
touch is the form, is the kiss ; form indeed is born within us." 
Therefore language is kissing, we are kissed by each word in 
a poem ; but all that is not poetry, is not spoken, it is only 
growled, as by dogs. What indeed wilt thou do with lan- 
guage but touch the soul; and what is the object of a kiss but 
to receive the forms and touch the soul, which is all the same. 
I have learnt it of Nature, she is constantly kissing me ; 
may I go or stand where I will, she kisses me, and I am 
already so accustomed to it that I run to meet her with my 
eyes, for they are the mouth Nature kisses. Thou mayst 
believe it, I feel that a bud kisses me differently from a 
flower, and why? they are different in form, but this kissing 
is speaking, and I could say: Nature, thy kiss speaks to my 
very soul. That is a thought too, which I wrote in my book, 
and I shall let it stand, because I can carry it out. Ah, 
when I look around and see the branches stretching towards 
me and speaking to, that is, kissing my soul, all things 

eaking, and all look at clinging with its lips to the lips of 
my soul, when color, form, fragrance, all will manifest them- 
selves in language, — is not then color the tone, form the 
word, and fragrance the spirit, and can I not say all Nature 
speaks to me, that is, kisses my soul ; on this the soul must 
thrive, it is its element, for each living thing in Nature has its 
element. The element of the soul, then, is to see. to watch, to 
impress itself with form, which is the language of Nature. 
Nature has a soul of its own besides, and this soul will also be 
kissed and nourished, just as my soul is nourished by Na- 



186 



GUNDERODE. 



ture's language, when I am penetrated by it, (for there are 
moments when the soul is burning with the fire of life, when 
it is entirely and wholly that which it has received within 
itself, namely the manifestation of Nature, when in its turn it 
recognizes Nature as in want of nourishment ;) so I stood 
before her imparting my spirit, and kissing her with the lips 
of my soul. 

See, this is Spirit ; it was not contemplation, but primeval 
Spirit of Life, without earthly form ; thought is the earthly 
form of Spirit. But my spirit did not take this form in 
speaking to it ; it was not thought, neither was it feeling nor 
perception, for those seem different to me again ; it was Will 

— yes, Will, that made the soul look at Nature so clearly and 
firmly, as though it would return to her all it had given, 
namely, Life. This it is ; it is reciprocal action, all that 
lives gives life and must receive life. Do not believe that 
all" people live ; they are alive, to be sure, but they do not 
live ; I feel that in myself I only live when I stand in mu- 
tual reciprocation with Nature. Thus I have learnt, too, that 
tears need not be a necessary consequence of pain or joy — 
they can be a natural consequence, as sleep is the conse- 
quence of an excited mind. I must often suddenly weep with- 
out having first been moved, this must certainly be because 
nature so fills my soul and secretly causes emotions that make 
it weep. Often too I lay myself down on the ground, into 
the velvety black mould of the newly ploughed earth, that 
sends up its warm steam, warming me, for I am cold. Yes, 
my spirit chills within me, but when I lie down on the ground, 
directly I feel how the warmth thrills through my head and 
breast, and involuntarily I fold my hands as if in prayer. 
Mark now, all this has not been thought, and still it is spirit 

— spirit in reciprocate action with Nature. I am really 
glad to have found the word to-day ; I would sooner have 
spoken of it to thee, but that I could not find the words. I 
could tell thee quite other things yet, because I am not at all 
afraid of thee and thy scolding ; thou wilt agree with me, 
that as high as the soul can take its flight, so high it may 
soar, for why has God given it wings ; soul is really flight. 
I must laugh at Lotte, who speaks of consistency ; that is not 
spirit, inconsistency is spirit ; to hover hither and thither on 
the wing, to unite with everything it comes in contact with, that 
is Spirit, — to change directly into that with which it unites; 



GUNDERODE. 



187 



thus true Spirit changes to Nature, because it is met by her 
everywhere, because its contact with her alone is Spirit ; it 
would not be, were it not Nature that stood deeply in need of 
it ; it is that which calls it into life each moment. Spirit is 
a continuous giving birth to life that it may kiss Nature and 
receive its forms. Nature absorbs all the forms of the Spirit 
and on those it lives, and as Spirit flows down through all 
forms and unites with it, so Nature can compass herself in 
own forms, in which consists her divine charm ; charm is en- 
chantment, — but whence can charm arise but from self-com- 
prehension? There, that is something new again, which we 
will discuss to-morrow. My shoulders ache from writing this 
evening. This I would only say : My spirit, or through me 
my spirit speaks with Nature, while I remain perfectly pas- 
sive. I do not recollect, I think nothing, and have no contem- 
plation ; but afterwards I can tell thee about it as thou seest. 
To-day, then, for the first time, by the union of the Spirit with 
Nature thoughts were begotten, that have afterwards been 
produced. But what kind of thoughts are they ? one could 
call them lies, follies, or fables, and consequently no thoughts, 
for how can I prove them ? of what use are they, and to 
what do these thoughts tend ? Yes, that is just the thing. 
Spirit-thoughts effect nothing that already is, they are ever 
producing anew. Dost thou see again that I am right ; be- 
cause Spirit aud Nature meet, they are constantly alive, and 
constantly producing anew ; if we are to enter a new life 
after this life, how shall we do it, if the Spirit does not repro- 
duce itself over into the other world ? It must then bear 
itself like a babe in its mother ; it must be pregnant with itself 
and nourish itself, until it is a ripened fruit within, then it will 
bring itself forth, — how and when, that is all the same ; a ripe 
fruit always comes into the world ; the world was before the 
fruit, and it cannot fall down from the world to which its life 
aspires, it can only be born into it. The Spirit then, that al- 
ways kisses Nature, that is, drinks in her language, nourishes 
itself from it, in order to bring itself forth ; Nature does the 
same, she ripens fruit of the Spirit for the future by her con- 
tact with it, and thus will the new-born fruit of the Spirit enter 
into a higher and more perfect state, for God never deviates 
from Nature, and it is always that by which the new-born 
soul is met, again to be kissed by its forms, that is, to receive 
its language, which speaks to the soul ; by which the soul is 



188 



GUND ERODE. 



fed ; it certainly must be so with all living beings who have 
advanced so far that their ^spirit is free, and they can think 
independently. All men suffer the same contact with Nature, 
only they do not know it. I am just as they are, with only 
this difference, that I am conscious, for I have had the heart, 
urgently, and with passionate love to ask. Some indeed read 
it as a poetic fable, that Nature begs for release ; others are 
filled with awe when they stand alone in the unbroken silence 
of Nature, their hearts are oppressed and they know neither 
to awaken the spirit within themselves nor to subdue, but un- 
feelingly avoid it, although an inner voice tells them that 
something is taking place to which they should yield them- 
selves up ; but then they are overcome with fear and with- 
draw again into the habits of daily life, where one meal dis- 
misses another until sleep comes over them and a day and 
night are spent; and is this what one should live for? No, 
that can never be ! 

The thought has long haunted me, " Why dost thou live?" 
particularly when I sometimes go to walk at sunset in the 
w r oods by the Homburg chaussee, I would stand still and ask 
myself this. There I heard, felt that sad stillness of Nature, 
and it stood like a wall of separation between me and her, for I 
felt distinctly that I did not reach her. Then thought I, if 
there were not a nearer living relation between us, I could 
not so plainly feel the separation. Does not my soul plainly 
perceive how sad it is? It does then approach thee livingly, 
and thou art aware that she has a spirit belonging to herself 
alone which she would communicate. So I took heart, in- 
tending to speak with her, but did not know if I should do it 
aloud as with men, for to kiss its form, and thus communicate 
with it, was not plain to me, although I have no doubt done 
it unconsciously in the Convent, for about the Convent I can 
tell the most remarkable things. I thought one Sunday 
morning, as we returned from church at Brugel, that in the 
afternoon I would seek a solitary place, and there speak 
loudly with her as one speaks with men. I fairly shuddered 
as I slipped from the garden where we were assembled with 
others, going along the road by the woods ; then following 
the brook that rushed towards me, I came to a rocky place 
where the brook divides, and winds on, rushing and foam- 
ing. There I stood for a while, and the rushing seemed to 
me like sighs breathed by a child, so I spoke as I would 



GUNDERODE. 



189 



have done to a child. Dear one, what troubles thee ? — 
and when 1 had said it, I shuddered and felt ashamed, as 
though I had spoken to one far above me. I threw myself 
suddenly down, and hid my face in the grass, and at first 
I was so overcome, that I did not know where I was ; but 
by and by I came to myself, and as I lay there, with my 
face deeply hidden, I was so tender, — ah, I tell thee, a 
thousand sweet things gushed from the lips of my soul, — 
a desire to love Nature, and 1 do not know what else 
passed. I could hardly rise from the place where I lay, 
but felt my head growing very hot ; on raising it I found 
the sun shining vigorously upon it, and nothing around me 
was sombre and sad ; all was alive, and it seemed as if 
my soul had received new life ; the waves of the brook 
curling round the stones seemed to come fuller and louder. 
I had to look at them deeply, and learnt to retain their forms, 
the more earnestly I gazed. I lay beneath two great pines, 
the branches of which touched the ground, looking at the 
fine-painted leaves so regularly placed, with the little sticky 
buds between, which they protect in their midst. Then, 
thought I, there is no thought as vigorous and true as this 
tree, and never have I heard men's speech, of which the 
thought bore the bud of the future within it ; therefore, 
everything is so flat and lifeless, for all that lives must 
bear the bud of the future within it, else is it nothing. So 
too must it be with the actions of men, else are they sinful. 
Then I considered how it would be possible for each action 
to contain the germ of the future. I soon found it thus : 
Each deed must have the highest aim, and this high aim 
is the bud of the future. Oh, I would rule the world, and 
people should wonder ! I learnt how it was to be done in 
Nature, in that first moment, and you may believe that I 
would never go wrong. At first, when the old walls will 
come down, there may be a great deal of dust, but, when 
the dust has settled, a brighter, fairer sky. And, as 1 lay 
on the ground, my tears mingled with the mould. My shoul- 
ders ache ; I can write no more, although I have yet so much 
to tell thee ! It is morning ; the sun is coming already. 
Good-night. 



190 



GtJNDERODE. 



MONDAY. 

I thought in my sleep to-day that I was very happy ; all 
that I wrote to thee yesterday was only indicated by the fol- 
lowing dry words in my book : u All forms are letters ; know 
how to combine the forms, and thou hast the word, (kiss,) 
and by this the sense, (thought,) the food of love of the 
soul." No one will become wise by this, and probably no 
one will care to; such thoughts, when we keep them, are 
like dried prunes, all wrinkled and hard. No, it is impos- 
sible to make a book out of what passes through my head ; 
it is rude stuff, and refractory when I would put it into 
thoughts. No one can make use of them ; even Clemens would 
think my wits were wandering. By thee I expect, to be 
patiently listened to, as it cannot be altered. Thou takest 
pains to concentrate my thoughts, (which means to fix them 
on one thing, I believe) ; but that thou wilt never be able to 
do, for I cannot force myself to do it, although I often say 
to myself : Only half an hour's patience every day and you 
will soon become master of all you desire to learn; — and 
when I think this, I shudder as though I had sinned in my 
thoughts. 

Yesterday grandmamma called me to her, and talked to 
me about my probable capabilities, saying : Who cannot fill 
the wine into vessels, cannot keep it. She held me by both 
hands, looking at me so earnestly that I promised her 
everything ; but when she said, Do study Latin, and 1 had 
promised, a wicked fear befell me, and my heart beat with 
impatience that she might let me go, but, out of reverence, 
I stood still before her ; so, seeing how my cheeks burned, 
she said : " Go out into the fresh air, dear child ; to-morrow 
we will speak further." Directly I climbed upon the roof of 
the laundry, and, catching a branch of the acacia, I climbed 
into the tree, and embracing it, begged its pardon for having 
promised to learn Latin. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

I have received thy letters, written since my departure, 
and must remain cold not to be scorched by thy flames; yet 
I seek to feel with thee, and my efforts are not in vain. I 
am astonished to see how powerfully thou art affected by all 
this, and that thy health does not suffer ; for I am convinced 



GUND ERODE. 



191 



that thou dost not sleep much ; and then this restless life, 
each moment of which offers thee a new stimulus I believe 
myself thou hast a demon to strengthen thee, else how couldst 
thou bear it all ? And thy heart, is it not filled to overflow- 
ing ? The gardener, Moritz, the Frenchman, Clemens, and 
I too ; thy early wanderings in the bosket ; thou dost not 
take sleep enough, and canst not endure it long ; 1 myself do 
not feel here as usual. The future does not seem bright, 
and I take less delight in the living, in the world of fancy 
that our imagination formerly conjured up so luxuriantly, 
that it quite absorbed reality ; but this will change when we 
meet, and I think this winter earnestly to overcome it. I am 
at present studying the distinguished Spartan women, having 
laid down the outlines of a tragedy. If I cannot be heroic, 
and am always ill from hesitation and timidity, I will at 
least fill my soul with that heroism, and feed it with that vital 
power in which I am so sadly deficient, and to the want of 
which I can no doubt attribute the melancholy that so often 
befalls me. 

But do not fear for me ; there are only moments when I 
am seized as by an icy frost, but it never withstands the 
glow of thy spring-like letters. Yesterday and to-day there 
is a blooming and budding within me, — re-reading them 
always makes me happier, and thankful to thee. About 
Clemens, too, thou writest what pleases me. Farewell — thy 
letter on Nature gave me especial pleasure ; it was like the 
twittering of young birds, still unfledged nurselings in the 
nest, watched by their tender mother ; but perhaps when 
4hey are fledged, they will take their flight, as laws given by 
Nature for the mind capable of receiving them as divine, 
though in letters they may not be compassed, at least not in 
our century. — Are those all the thoughts thou hast set down 
in thy book ? Oh, do not lose any of them ! I send thee a 
few songs ; read them as one would a poem, without too 
much effect, and think, too, that the metre sometimes influ- 
ences the mood, and fear not that I am too sad. Poetry is 
balm on the wounds of non-fulfilment in our lives. In time 
they heal, and from the blood that moistened the soil of the 
soul, the mind has cultivated beautiful red flowers, that blos- 
som a day, when it is sweet to draw the fragrance of recollec- 
tion from them. The u Pilgrims " was written about eight 



192 



GUNDERODE. 



days ago; the "River of Lethe" was influenced by thy 
intercourse with the Emigrants, I do not know how. 
Has St. Clair returned ? was he with thee ? 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

Ten days already thou art absent, and every c"ay the Jew 
comes with his empty bag, which I made him turn inside 
out to-day, because I surely thought to find the long-expected 
letter ; nothing but bread-crumbs however fell out, and not a 
crumb of thy words for me. I do not crave them when I 
know that all is as it was, and thou art well. If thou canst 
find nothing to say to me, then collect my religious doctrines 
from my letters ; I have yet many after-thoughts streaming 
from the intoxicating springs of Nature, from which I think I 
ought to dip. 

There is an eternal round of visiting at grandmamma's ; to- 
day we promenaded with no less than seventeen Principalities 
in the garden, grandmamma most astonishingly outshining 
them all in grace and dignity. Isenburg, Reus-Erbahc, and 
several Hessian Highnesses, besides the Duke of Gotha, w T ho 
has been as regular in the house as our daily bread for some 
time past. Every afternoon he drives over, makes me read 
despatches and journals to him, after which he goes into the 
garden, where he has planted some beans that I must help 
him water. Grandmamma speaks of his genius, but I am 
pleased to be treated by him like a child ; he calls me thou ! 
never asks me anything but what I can answer with yes or 
no, and more than that I have not said to him as yet. In* 
the garden he makes me carry the umbrella in the sun, and 
he takes the watering-pot ; but the last time he was so weak 
;hat he had to put it down, so I suggested to him to carry 
the umbrella and let me take the watering-pot ; he believed 
it would be too heavy, but since he has seen me carry it 
with outstretched arm, to keep my dress from getting wet, he 
calls me the strong maiden. His red hair has a desperate 
cut, like a field of grain struck by a hail-storm, and his face 
is so pale that he has the appearance of a ghost at twilight ; 
and I was always afraid of him when he accompanied me 
through the bosket at dusk. Grandmamma had received 
all the Highnesses as they left their carriages, protesting 



GUNDERODE. 



193 



against their coming into the summer-house ; but into the 
summer-house they would go, so that soon it could hardly 
contain them. In the garden the Duke made peach-lemon- 
ade, tor he is fond of mixing and brewing ; I had to'get ev- 
erything, and bring it to the honeysuckle arbor, he calling 
me strong maiden all the while, so that I passed with the 
whole assembly as so rare a phenomenon. At last he told 
me to go to the bean plantation and see that the broadfooted, 
bandylegged promenaders did not trample it down, so I got 
Shawell and sat down in the middle of it. passing unnoticed 
for the rest of the time. It really was refreshing, for I was 
confused and tired ; I can endure everything but the impet- 
uous language of men without tire or aim. brandishing in 
the air. never interrogating and giving no impulse : silence 
would be far better. But before that is custom, however 
many advantages it may offer, much water will flow down 
the Maine. In the evening we all went to the bosket to hear 
the music, it was illuminated by colored lamps, and the 
orange-trees on the terrace by the river were in full bloom. 
Ah, how tired and overcome I was ! what I dreamt I do not 
know, but it was beautiful, for I awakened in a maze of 
pleasurable sensations, but so dizzy that the strong maiden 
was led home by the hand of the Duke, who returned to 
town, and called to me as he drove off, 44 Go to bed strong 
maiden, thou art quite pale." 

The llth. 

St. Clair was here to-day between ten and one o'clock ; I 
was not yet up. having asked grandmamma's permission to 
sleep as long as I liked, the orange fragrance of the night 
before having quite overcome me. He was expecting me 
behind the poplar hedge. 

There is a woe before which one grows mute ; the soul too 
would be buried, no more to feel that so much grief can 
gather over one heart ; and how could it ? I ask, and here 
is the answer, — because there is no more healing love to 
grant release. Shall we ever understand that all sad fate is 
our own fate. — that all must be healed by love, in order our- 
selves to be healed. But we are no longer conscious of our 
own disease, not ot our ossiried senses. That this is disease 
we do not feel, nor that we are insane, and more so than 
he whose senilis should illumine his native land, but was 
13 



194 



GUNDERODE. 



extinguished in the turbid pool of commonplaces that 
slowly collect. Has not Nature given us an inborn healing 
spirit? But we are so unreasonable that the hard stones 
will easier develop if within themselves than we. No, we 
cannot heal ; we do not let the spirit of healing be born in 
us, and therein lies our insanity. It certainly seems to me 
with Holderlin as though a divine power had overwhelmed 
him with its floods. It was Language sweeping along in its 
overpowering rapid stream that flooded his senses, drowning 
them in its waves ; and when the currents had subsided, the 
senses were left weak, and the power of the mind broken — 
dead. St. Clair too says that it is so, and adds, " Listening 
to him is like listening to the raging wind ; for he rushes 
ever onward in hymns that cease often, as when the wind is 
shifting, and then he is seized as with a keener knowledge, 
making one lose the idea of his insanity entirely, and with 
that which he says of Poetry and Language he seems near 
unveiling their divine mystery; and then again all r becomes 
dark to him ; he wearies in the confusion, fearing not to make 
himself understood. Language, he says, forms thought ; for 
it is greater than the human mind, which is only a slave to 
Language, and so long will the mind of man not be most 
perfect, as it is not alone called forth by it. The laws of the 
mind, however, are metric, which is perceptible in Language, 
that throws its net over the mind, caught in which it must 
utter the Divine. As long as the Poet must seek the accent, 
and is not carried away by the rhythm, his poetry will contain 
no truth ; for Poesy is not silly, senseless rhyme, in which 
no deep mind can find pleasure, but Poesy is — that the mind 
only can express itself rhythmically; that only in rhythm its 
language lies, while that which is not poetical, is neither in- 
tellectual, consequently unrhythmical, and it were not worth 
while to force feelings into rhyme, where the spirit of lan- 
guage is so poor that nothing remains but the carefully stud- 
ied art of rhyming, which throttles the utterance of the 
mind. Only that mind was poetical which bore the secret 
of an inborn rhythm within it, and only with this rhythm could 
it become living and visible, for this is its soul ; but verses 
were only shadows, no minds with souls. There were higher 
laws for Poesy ; all emotions of the feelings developed 
according to new laws not applicable to others ; for all truth 
was prophetic, and threw the flood of its radiance on the 



GUXDEEODE. 



195 



times to come, and to Poesy alone it was reserved to spread 
this light ; therefore mind must and could only issue from it. 
Mind was alone produced by inspiration. Only to him will 
rhythm yield, in whom the mind becohies vitalized ! " And 
again, M He who recognizes Poesy in the divine sense, must 
acknowledge the mind of the Most High as beyond his intel- 
lectual law. subjecting all law to Him. 'Not as I will, but 
as Thou wilt ! ' Therefore must he build himself no laws, 
because Poesy will never allow itself to be confined, and ver- 
sification will ever be an empty dwelling, haunted only by 
goblins. Law in Poesy is the form of the idea in which the 
mind must move, but not retard its steps. Law, to which 
man would reduce the Divine, deadens the form of the idea, 
and thus the Divine cannot be received into the human mind. 
The body was Poesy, form of the idea ; and this, when 
seized by the tragic, became fatally positive, for murder flows 
from the words of the Divine, and the form of the idea, 
which is the body of Poesy, commits murder; thus it is a 
tragic element, pouring life into the idea-form (Poesy), as 
everything is tragic. The life in the word (in the body) was 
resurrection (vitally positive) emanating from the murdered. 
Death was the origin of Life. To confine Poesy to laws was 
like the mind clin^ina to cords, and swavinor between them to 
give it the appearance of flying. But an eagle, not measur- 
ing its flight — although the jealous sun would hold it 
down — with secretly active soul in elevated consciousness, 
yet avoiding this consciousness, thus retaining the possible 
vitality of the mind, — in him will the mind brood itself, tak- 
ing flight, often borne on in the rush of sacred rhythm, then 
floating and soaring back and forth in holy intoxication, 
yielding to the Divine, and only conscious that rhythm is per- 
petual flight towards the sun/' 

The next day he said further, M There were two figures of 
art, or two laws of calculation ; the one showing itself on 
equal elevation with the godlike, in the beginning of a work 
of art inclining towards the end ; the other, darting from the 
Divine light like a free sunbeam, seeking a resting-place in 
the human mind, inclines its equilibrium from the end to the 
beginning. Then did the mind rise from despair to holy 
frenzy, in so far as this were the highest human manifestation 
in which the soul surpassed all utterance of words, leading it 
into the light of the poetic god, where it becomes dazzled and 



196 



(HJNDERODE. 



so penetrated by light that it withers, losing its original lux- 
uriance in the strong sunlight. But a soil thus thoroughly 
scorched were on the point of resurrection ; it were a prep- 
aration for the superhuman, and only free Poesy it was 
which could thus be translated from one life to another. It 
was the fate of the innocent intellectual nature to conform to 
the organic in the actively heroic as well as in a state of pas- 
sive suffering. Each work of art was a rhythm in which 
the caesura afforded a moment's recollection of the resistance of 
the mind, and then, rapidly borne on by the Divine, flew tow- 
ards the end. Thus did the poetic god reveal himself. The 
caesura was just that vital equipoise of the human mind 
upon which that divine ray found rest. This inspiration, cre- 
ated by contact with the ray, puts it in motion, makes it 
sway, and this is Poesy, drawing from the primordial light, 
powerfully pouring down all its rhythm over the Spirit of 
the Times and of Nature, bringing the sensuous, the object 
to meet it, when by this contact inspiration mightily arises in 
the human mind, which moment must be seized by the Poet, 
who openly and without reserve of his character must yield 
himself up to it. Thus were the great rays of divine Poesy 
ever yet accompanied by the individual human nature of the 
Poet, sometimes as tragical lassitude, sometimes relentlessly 
darting through the flames ignited by divine heroism, or the 
yet unwritten world of the Dead, which by the inner law of 
the mind receives its rotation ; then again as a dreamy naive 
devotion to the poetic spirit, or as amiable resignation in mis- 
fortune, — thus bringing the primal nature of the Poet into 
objectivity with the heroic perfection of the Divine." 

I would yet fill pages for thee of Holderlin's remarks 
written down by St Clair during those eight days, for I 
have taken all this from them, together with that verbally 
communicated by St. Clair. Once Holderlin said, that all 
rhythm, the entire fate of man was nothing but a heavenly 
rhythm, and each work of art was a single rhythm, all 
rising from the Poet lips of God, and where the human mind 
yielded to that, it became a glorified fate, in which Genius 
showed itself; composing was a conflict for truth, and often 
it was in plastic, often in athletic spirit that the word seizes 
the body (metre), often too in the hesperian, which is the 
spirit of observation, producing poetic ecstasies, when the 
feet move joyously to Poets' tones, while necessarily the 



GUNDERODE. 



197 



senses are lost in framing the ideas of the dominant spiritual 
influence of the time. This last form of metre is a solemn, 
hymnical inspiration, sometimes plunging into night, where 
it becomes prophetic in darkness, sometimes flowing over all 
that daylight illumines. Opposed to this, as the humane 
period, stands the terrible Muse of the tragic period ; she 
thinks, that he who cannot comprehend this, will never ar- 
rive at an understanding of the sublime works of Greek art, 
the construction of which is a divinely organic one, which 
has not proceeded from human reason, but from a dedication 
to the incomprehensible. The God thus used the Poet as 
an arrow with which to hurl rhythm from his bow ; and he 
who neither feels, nor yields to this, will never have either 
the skill or athletic virtue that constitute the Poet, and 
such an one would be too weak, not being capable of com- 
prehending himself in matter, nor in the world-view of an 
earlier, nor the later conceptions of the tendency of our 
times, and no poetic form would be revealed to him. Poets 
who adapt themselves to given forms, can only repeat the 
spirit they give ; seating themselves like birds on a bough on 
the tree of language, they sway according to the primal 
rhythm lying at its root, but never will they soar as eagles 
of intellect, brooded by the living spirit of Language. I 
understand everything in this, although much is strange to 
me concerning the poetic art. of which I have either not a 
clear conception or none at all, but I understand the spirit 
better from Holderlin's views than from St. Clair's instruc- 
tion. All this must be sacred and important to thee. Ah, 
such an one as Holderlin. passionately carried away in 
labyrinthine search, we too must meet somewhere, if we fol- 
low the Divine with as pure a heroism as he. His words are 
to me as oracles which, as priest of the god, he utters in his 
frenzy, and certainly all ways of the world must seem in- 
sane to him, for he comprehends them not. And yet, how is 
the intellect of those constituted who do not consider them- 
selves insane ? — is it not insanity too, but such that no deity 
has part therein ? I perceive that that is called insanity 
which finds no echo in the mind of others ; but within me 
all this finds an echo, and I feel the answer rising from yet 
profounder depths than those of mere comprehension. My 
soul is like the Donnergebirge (thunder-mountain), one eclio 
wakes another, and so the words of the insane one will ever 
reverberate in my soul. 



198 



GUNDERODE. 



Gunderode, because thou writest me that my doing, think- 
ing, and writing fills thy soul, I will not cease ; in future all 
w T ill be revealed to thee, and I myself, as Holderlin has it, 
" will change into the form of the Poet-god," if I have only 
power of comprehension ! — fire I certainly have, — but it 
seems that T feel a fate in my soul, that is wholly rhythm, 
which the God hurls from his bow, and I too will not rest on 
the caesura where, against my own conflicting judgment, he 
ordains my divine being, but will tear myself away and in 
his rhythm rise to heaven. How else could I attain it ? O, 
never ! I would fall to the ground lil^e everything not pre- 
ordained to fly. And thou, Gunderode, noble as thou art in 
thy poetic flights, is not that the vibrating sinew of the Poet- 
god's bow ? letting us also feel its aim, in these soft dream- 
borne songs : — 

Drum lass mich wie mich der Moment geboren 
In ewigen Kreisen drehen sich die Horen 
Die Sterne wandlen ohne festen Stand. 

Then leave me all unchanged as I was born: 
In endless rounds the Hours ever turn, 
The speeding Stars will never find a goal. 

Dost thou not say the same thing here ? sounds not so the 
echo from the ode in Hdlderlin's soul. 

Ah, I do not know why we should not stand in awe of this 
sublimity, this greatness, even if no echo brings it to our 
comprehension, for still we know that the unfettered mind 
will rise in triumph above sufferings imposed upon it by a 
Divine hand, to the halls of light But we ! do we untried 
ones know if we shall ever see the dawn ? I know now 
that I must follow him much more ; but enough of this be- 
tween us. He is an apparition to my senses, and into my 
thought he infuses light. bettine, 



PART II. 



If thou art penetrated by a higher conception of any hu- 
man mind, then do not doubt but it is the true one, as all are 
born to the Ideal ; where thou art aware of it, thou canst also, 
make it apparent from the spirit within. 

He who denies the Ideal in himself, can never understand 
it in others, even if it were perfectly expressed. In him 
who recognizes the Ideal in others it will even unfold un- 
consciously. 



PART II. 



FRANKFORT. 

TO GUXDERODE. 

Clemens sends thee a thousand greetings : I must write 
this first because he stands behind me. compelling me to do 
so. He speaks of a bullfinch that is in love with thee, and 
so charmingly stupid that he prophesies thou wilt not resist 
him. as he knows thy weakness for stupidity, pouncing upon 
it like a bird of prey on a new-fledged gosling : he says he 
has seen thee several times watching and hovering with 
greedy eyes over some phenomenon of stupidity, and that 
thou wouldst never have permitted an attempt at rescue, 
that in the Eheingau thou wert certainly making chase after 
them, while here the rarest specimens would run into thy 
hands, besides several to be seen for very little money. 

He has just taken his hat to go and engage seats for the 
puppet-show, where he intends to take Pauline to demonstrate 
the inside of her stomach to her. He says she has a puppet- 
show in her body, and. whenever she speaks, he answers 
either to Pantalon. Scaramutch. Clown, or Columbine, &c. 
Thus, as often as she speaks, he answers to a different person 
of the show, and so drolly. that the theatre, namely. Pau- 
line's stomach, is most shaken by the laughter. His wit is 
inexhaustible, and every one runs after him. Thy absence 
has visibly affected him, and he wishes he could induce thee 
to return ; but thou wilt not leave the Gardens of Dionysius, 
where thou canst every morning taste the ripe fruit God hang- 
before thy window, to see the bears dance at our dusty fair. 

Had not Clemens expected me here, I would gladly have 
remained on the Rhine with thee. I thought of it often, and 
think Franz would not have objected. How pleasant it 
would have been ; we would have roamed everywhere, where 
other people do not go ; often a little hidden spot, unknown 



202 



GUNDERODE. 



to any one, is the loveliest in the world. I tell thee, we 
would have discovered little springs, deep in among the high 
grass and stones, solitary huts in the woods, and perhaps 
caves. How I like to pry out Nature step for step. Besides, 
I think we had better look about us for a spot on which to 
build our huts. Thou on a mountain overlooking the land, 
and I in the valley, where the herbage is luxuriant and all is 
hidden, or in the woods ; but we must live within call of one 
another. Thou callest through a speaking-trumpet, " Bet- 
tine, come up ! " and I will come, the canary-bird flying 
before, because he knows already whither we are bound, and 
the spaniel barking behind, for down in the valley one must 
have a dog. Listen ! — In spring we would take our sticks 
and wander as though we were hermits, and not say that 
we are girls. Thou must wear a false beard, because thou 
art tall, else no one will believe it ; but only a small, becom- 
ing one ; and I will pass for thy little brother, because I am 
small, but I shall have to cut my hair off. Such a journey 
we will make in May-flower time ; but will we not miss the 
strawberries ? for in the valley everything will be covered, 
first with violets, and then with strawberries, on which we 
will live six weeks ; cabbage we will not plant, but return in 
fall to eat the grapes. Oh, could it only be true of one sum- 
mer ! It seems to me that one could wish to live so ever 
and ever. Truly, all my wisdom beams to me from thy 
countenance. There is more than enough that reaches me, 
if I only look at thee ; thou speakest even if thou art silent, 
for thou art a great but a revealed secret. Thy spirit puts 
me asleep, so that I dream I am awake, feeling everything 
as in a dream, which is well, else it would confuse me. 

As soon as Clemens came home, he asked for my letter, as 
he wished to add something too ; but I drew his attention 
from it by telling him all sorts of things about thee, for I did 
not want him to read my plan of living with thee as a her- 
mit, because he certainly would have come out with it in his 
puppet-play. I gave him an account of our sail on the Rhine 
by moonlight, with the deck of the boat converted into an 
orangery. He seemed much pleased, inquiring about all 
that had happened, the conversation, the shores, the moon. 
I told him, for I remembered everything, each breeze that 
arose, and how the moon gleamed through the windows and 
arches of the old castles. He asked too what we had spoken 



GUNDERODE. 



203 



of : I told hira nothing, or very little, for Nature had been 
so very silent. When he had finished questioning me. he 
left, locking the door after hira. and telling me that I must 
make a poem of what I had just told him ; that I needed 
only write it down in little sentences, whether they rhymed 
or not. he could easily teach me to rhyme. So off he 
went, locking the door, and called to rae from outside : 
"You will not come out until you have made a poem." 
There I stood, quite bewildered ; I had not thought of 
writing it down. But it did make me think of verse- 
making, and how strange that is ! how in feeling itself there 
is an impulse, which the verse breaks, and how, like a degrad- 
ing fetter, rhyme often is to the tender emotions of the soul ! 
Correct me if I mistake ; but is it not probable that rhyme 
and metre so influence the original thought, that they adul- 
terate it ? On the whole, it is music that most moves the 
soul. I have long since experienced that, because nothing 
can move the senses, and through these the soul, as music. 
That by which thou art moved is sound, striking its respon- 
sive tones, that awaken the echoes within thee, until all har- 
mony is roused. Between this thought wanders, choosing 
the melody by which to reveal itself to the soul. 

This seems to me the way in which thought is wedded to 
spirit. Xow I can better understand that rhythm has an 
organic connection with thought, and that the limited concep- 
tion of the human mind, guided by rhythm, learns to com- 
prehend thought in its glorified state, and sees the deeper 
meanings it reveals, and that as inspiration will yield to 
rhythm, it gradually becomes purified, leaving philosophy to 
appear as the highest intellectual poesy, as revelation, as 
con?tant development of the mind, consequently as religion ; 
for what shall I do with a stagnant religion? I do not 
think as thou dost, that philosophy will become poesy in the 
end. No ; but it strikes me that it will become, or is the 
blossom, surprising us in each thought with the purest, most 
untrammelled poesy, being ever anew — God's language in 
the soul. God is poesy, and nothing else, which men trans- 
late into a dead language, not understood by the unlearned, 
but to the learned only a gratification of their conceit. Thus, 
then, the doings of men everywhere hinder the vital spirit 
in everything, in every art, so that the inspiration through 
which they could perceive the divine is separated from them. 
1 must be brief, else I would express myself better. 



204 



GUND ERODE. 



The medium between God and the soul is Music ; thought 
is the blossom of omnipresent Spirit, as melody is the blos- 
som of harmony. 

All that is revealed to the human mind is melody, borne by 
the omnipresence of Spirit ; it is God's poesy. In it feeling 
unveils to its perception and enjoyment, budding in the sun 
of the Spirit, — I call it Love ; the mind forms itself in it, 
and becomes the blossom of the poesy of God, — I call it 
Philosophy. I do not think that we can comprehend philos- 
ophy ; the blossom must first ripen in us. God alone is the 
omnipresence of Spirit, the harmony of Wisdom. But I 
did not want to say all this ; my head burns, and my heart 
throbs too loudly, to let me see clearly when I want to think. 
I intended to speak about rhyming. 

Rhymes, when I am forming them, seem so trifling to me, 
and I always think : Ah, thought does not want to be 
rhymed, or would take another direction, in which I hinder 
it. Why shall I bend the boughs, so freely swaying out into 
the air, absorbing so many streams of delicate life ? What 
do I care to have it symmetrically clipped ? I like to rove 
amid luxuriantly wild foliage, in which here and there a flut- 
tering bird startles me, or a bough brushes against my fore- 
head, awakening me, when old habit would lull me to sleep. 
And is not perhaps the soul of Thought itself that which 
guides the senses, and shall we not follow it ? 

In fine then, my poem was not produced ; how could I 
have bungled over our orange-blossom night, and our raptur- 
ous solitude, in each moment of which that feeling was ex- 
pressed that before I called God's-poesy, Wisdom. Oh, no, 
such sweet dreaminess I did not want to roll into single 
thought-shadows. Let the dream go on, or let it dissolve, 
but do not confine in narrow verse that which spreads such 
delicate boughs into the air, let it blossom on till it fades. 
You see, these little poetic monsters of remarks are only 
made in regard to myself. I love Poesy, it fills me with in- 
spiration in thee and in others, but not for myself. 

When Clemens released me from my imprisonment, I had 
rhymed Frau Hoch's tale of the Jester who taught his King 
to catch fish, by casting the net over the King and dipping 
him into the water, saying : thus fools catch fish, but a king 
in a net will catch none. 

At the puppet-show, Clemens was in an overflowing hu- 
mor, wit escaped him like the sparks of a firework ignited in 



GUXDERODE. 



205 



his pocket. Every moment a rocket rose, till at last the fun 
of the show overcame him. and laughter checked- his wit. 

Yesterday we strolled through the Judengasse (Jew- 
street), many strange figures came and vanished, so that one 
might have taken them for ghosts. It was twilight already 
and I begged to go home ; but Clemens would call, see here ! 
and, see there how he looks ! till I thought they were all run- 
ning after me, and I was glad enough to get home. 

Farewell, I do not feel secure here now that thou art away, 
and I cannot go to thee and rest and come to myself. I feel 
quite strange. betttxe. 

TO BETTINE. 

As thy letter begins with a thousand greetings from Cle- 
mens, do answer them in my name. I am sorry that I cannot 
be with thee, but the air and the grapes are doing my eyes 
good, and I feel generally better. Your doings would highly 
delight me, especially the puppet-show ; — I pass over all the 
rest, and thy remarks on rhyming I understand as follows : 
thou art aware of a higher rhythmical law, a rhythm which 
is the spirit of the Spirit, exciting the Spirit, and leading it 
to new revelations. It is thy belief that rhyme is the lowest, 
indeed often even a lowering step, of this metrical spirit of 
language, often breaking the foreboding or the power of a 
thought, so that it cannot develop to that elevation for 
which it was originally intended. This I will not contradict, 
thou mayst be right, namely, in so far that there is a higher 
musical law, the existence of which is manifest in every free 
thought, but more or less suppressed by the construction of 
the verse. Now thou must admit, that in the Poet an inspi- 
ration reigns, indicating a higher power, as by the very means 
of these childlike laws to which he descends, that show in 
themselves a higher instinct, he is led to art. Thou sayst, in 
regard to Art, that the doings of men everywhere checked 
its vital power ; but pray do not believe that those who do not 
develop great genius in poetry, cannot be elevated to higher 
aims by it ; firstly they receive a preparation for an art, in 
being reached by thoughts and feelings, conveyed in an artis- 
tic form, thereby gaining or maintaining greater moral dig- 
nity. 

Certainly in every feeling, trifling, or even simple* as it 
may be held, the impulse morally to glorify it should not be 



206 



GUNDERODE. 



rejected, and in many a poem of no reputation I have often 
found the perception of an undoubtedly higher truth, or the 
desire to attain it expressed ; truly it is often so. Artists 
and Poets wearily seek and learn their way, but how they 
can be understood and comprehended, they do not learn ; 
then take it thus, that all aspiration, if unchecked or hesitat- 
ing, has the precedence over no aspiration at all. 

Good-night, I cannot write more at present, as not every- 
thing in thy letter is quite clear to me ; thou hast either dis- 
cussed other things, or repeated the same ones over. The 
emphasis of language facilitates the understanding of it so 
much ; and were we together, how much easier and more 
thoroughly that which we mean to express could be arrived 
at, and I have sufficient faith in the spirit of language to be- 
lieve that it will not forsake us. 

Splendid nights, with roaring winds, I enjoy here, and 
storms that tear summer and autumn asunder. 

CAROLINE. 

TO G UNDER ODE. 

Thou speakest a holy language ; thou thyself art holy 
when thou speakest. I feel within thee the rhythm bearing 
thy spirit to higher knowledge. I feel, too, that Goodness, 
Gentleness, is the mother of Truth within thee, whose proto- 
type thou art. Did I not want to say everything at once, I 
would be more intelligible. Thou art calm, therefore all 
thou sayst is so convincing. If I could only remember what I 
have written to thee ; it is but to listen to thee that I like to 
think, only to have thee unite the tones of my soul to melo- 
dies. Each tone exists for itself; but by its harmony with 
other tones, it creates melodies, thoughts. In all melodies, all 
thoughts, consists the omnipresent Spirit, the poesy of God — 
Philosophy. The poesy of God is harmony, creating melody 
for the thoughts ; it rises from it like the blossom from the 
elements of spring, and the blooming soul stands amid the 
eternal gardens of Poesy. 

Music is the sensuous nature of the omnipresent Spirit, that 
so perceptibly, yet so incomprehensibly touches the ear, reach- 
ing the heart, and then the mind giving it deeper thoughts. 
It is the sensuous part of our intellectual nature. All mind 
is spirit moved by sensuous influences, and therefore music. 
Thus it is that the thoughts in music are involuntary, created 



GUXDERODE. 



207 



within this sensuous emotion of the soul. Ah, words are 
wanting ; there is a gush upon me from all sides. I am 
eager for the expression of that which flashes in my soul, yet 
am afraid it may not convey the meaning I wish, and — " Oh, 
lend, upon thy downy cushions dreaming a listening ear ! " I 
hear muttering in the stupid background of my mind, on 
which I disinter myself partways from my laziness, heark- 
ening dreamily to the dream that sings on, " To tuneful 
thoughts sleep on. what wilt thou more ? " If a latent fore- 
boding awakens in music, then mightily the feelings spread 
their wings, each tone expressing new sensations and a higher 
impulse for the sublime, for the mastery over powerful 
faculties accompanies the rhythmical motion ; indeed, I have 
even experienced that it is guided by it. {i *When to my 
sounding lyre, bless countless stars the heart's eternal fire." 
It is true then that all mind is sensuous music ; that, as in 
harmony the movement of each tone opens new paths for it, 
or if for moments I but anticipate more distant feelings, then 
harmony pours in through the new opening ; that in the 
mind each anticipation stands in an inward connection with 
the more distant, an eternal movement of harmony, from which 
the melody of thought escapes from its narrower confines to 
a sublimer contemplation. " Feeling's eternal life lifts me 
but high and higher above all earthly strife." Thus all un- 
deniable truth is eternally changing, active vitality. I am 
afraid to think alone. Were we only together, we would 
share it, and thy understanding would convey comprehension 
to my mind, which would follow accordingly. Then, too, 
would I gain calmness and confidence, that I can learn to ex- 
press myself. k * By thee am I too much a stranger made, 
from earthly strife drawn into cooling shade." 

If we could only always speak together, from that lovely 
confu.-ion all would finally emerge ; indeed I feel how Spirit 
arose from Chaos. Do not be too exacting. " Lend but in 
dreams thy ear, when on thy downy cushions sleeping ; what 
wilt thou more?" rettixe. 

TO BETTINE. 

Whatever may be the contact of the Omnific Power, Truth 
will be born from it, as the earth arose a melody from the 
waves of Chaos. Caroline. 



208 



GTTNDERODE. 



TO GUNDERODE. 

Yes, and all stars are melodies floating in the stream of 
harmony — souls of the universe, blossoming forth from the 
spirit of God — tones sounding to corresponding tones ; and 
when we lift ourselves up to the stars, our thoughts harmoni- 
ously unite with them, for we belong to one strain of accord- 
ant vibration with them. As each thought, each soul is mel- 
ody, so shall the mind, by encompassing all things, become 
one harmony — the poesy of God. Do not take it too strict- 
ly, and return to me clearly what I want to say. 

TO BETTINE. 

Then were the human mind by its comprehension, its under- 
standing, qualified to become entirely spiritualized, philo- 
sophic, indeed Deity itself? Were God infinite, if he were 
not Oneness in every germ of life ? Then each spiritual im- 
pulse bearing the oneness of God within it, would express it, 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUND ERODE. 

Indeed, it is proved by music ; each tone expresses its 
chord, each chord its relationships, and through all these re- 
lationships streams the ever-changing strain of harmony, the 
ever-creating spirit of God. Thinking is the expression of 
God ; it is the shaping one's self in harmony. I dare not 
cast a look aside, but I feel that in comprehending, the spirit, 
of God is created into the human mind ; for what would this 
germ of the godlike be in the human mind, did it not de- 
velop itself by constant aspiration ? The sole object of life 
is learning to comprehend God ; that, too, is our inner judge. 
What God does not develop better remains undone, for it is 
not melody. That which is unharmonious is sin, for it dis- 
turbs the harmony of God within us, the response is dis- 
cordant. All great actions aw r aken a harmony in which the 
stars join ; therefore great deeds are so gratifying to us ; 
they dissolve the chords into sublimer harmonies, intensify- 
ing the musical tendencies by a unanimous chiming of all 
the responsive chords. But I cannot think any more about it ; 
I only dream, the melody of my thoughts lulling me into 
deeper sleep, and ideas slip from my mind untold. 

Thou art living and hovering in the free air ; all Nature 



GUXDERODE. 



209 



bears thy spirit on its hands, while I crowd through between 
sense and nonsense, while here and there folly takes posses- 
sion of me. But evenings, when I sit down and must think 
the Impossible, which it is impossible to express. I am dream- 
ily intoxicated and giddy when I open my eyes ; the walls 
seem to turn about me. and the doings of men with them. 
Could there yet be hidden powers in language of which we 
know nothing, which we do not understand how to control ? 
Write to me about that, if thou belie vest it too. and if we can 
penetrate far enough to express the unsaid; for. certainly, if 
language yields, the Spirit must stream over it ; because all 
Spirit is nothing but a translation of the spirit of God into 
us. Good-night. bettixe. 

TO BETTIXE. 

If thou art unsteady and a little giddy, thinkst thou it is in- 
expressible spirit ? how easily thou art intoxicated. — because 
wine does not agree with thee, and thou thinkst new sources 
of language will be opened to illumine thy understanding. 
Do become a little stronger, or don't drink so much at once ; 
if thou wouldst only keep thyself firmly in view, language 
would not forsake thee. I do indeed believe that it requires 
the space of a human life entirely to understand the power 
of language, and that its yet undiscovered sources which thou 
art in search of will be found in its increased simplicity. 
This advice I would give thee, that, while expressing thy 
thoughts thou wilt cease to prove them, which will facilitate 
thy clearness very much. A connected train of thoughts in- 
volves its own logic, or. what is the same : truth itself is con- 
viction. To think without proof, is to think freely : thou 
demonstratest only to assist thyself. Such free thinking sim- 
plifies language, and intensifies its spirit. One must not hesi- 
tate to express that which would find utterance even in the 
simplest form ; the more deep and incontrovertible it will be. 
We must not assert, for that is placing mistrust in our 
own promptings ; nor confirm, because it infringes on the 
free direction of thought which according to Socrates may be- 
come counter-direction : neither must we bring testimonies or 
proofs while speaking, as the proof is a hindrance to the mind, 
until we are beyond it. We must avoid this because these 
three things are ignoble, in life and action, as well as in spirit. 

The relation of free Spirit to Language is passive, just as 
14 



210 



GUNDERODE. 



that of Language is to Spirit; yielding to each other without 
reserve, they do not neutralize one another, but unite in ex- 
pression deeply and wholly. The more confidence, the more 
fervor, just as it is in Love. What then should language lose 
by Spirit. Love equalizes everything. Do not interrupt their 
endearments, they will produce eternal inspirations by their 
raptures. Thus thy foreboding of the power of rhythm would 
be also touched upon, proofs we agree not to give. More 
than this we must not do for others, because it only separates 
them from the original childlike idea. We must not intro- 
duce the mind of another as guest into our ideas, for as guest 
it will not readily feel at home with them ; he must be led 
even by that which is wanting in expression to trace the idea, 
as only in unqualified confidence, complete abandonment, 
even in the apparently negligent, (which is only the trusting, 
sacred awe of Love,) the mind will find its way ; at least it 
will do so more easily. 

May riot often the deeper trace of truth have vanished, 
when, in seeking its confirmation, its original germ was 
wounded. 

Did not the mind-forging Cyclops, with their one eye in 
the middle of their brows, look at the world askance, instead 
of looking healthily at it with two eyes ? This question I 
put to the philosophers in thy own sense, in order to end here 
all further investigation ; recollecting at the same time thy 
extreme irritability. 

Farewell ; there is so much that is inviting at my window 
to-day that I cannot resist the Muse when she calls me there. 
Farewell, I love thee dearly. Caroline. 

I can speak thus with thee, thou wilt understand me, no 
one else probably will. — Or who would it be. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

I was at grandmamma's to-day ; she was alone all the 
afternoon, and we spoke first of thee, When grandmamma 
was occupied for a moment, I ran into the garden to see it 
again for the first time after a long absence ; but when I came 
to the garden-stairs, how shocked I was, I did not recognize 
the garden again ; think ! the high, swaying row of poplars, 
the heaven-aspiring stairs I had mounted so often to look 
after the departing sun, or to greet a thunder-storm, — two 



GUXD ERODE. 



211 



thirds of them cut down in a straight line ! I hardly knew 
what had befallen me. yet would I gladly learn -to compre- 
hend, for what harm can it do me. But ah. these poplars, 
witnesses of my earliest childish plays, that rained their blos- 
soms on to the child of three, staring up at them, as though 
they reached the skies! 

Ah. what shall I say now, that they stand but as stumps 
with a few boughs left, together bearing their humiliation and 
sorrow. Ah. ye tree-souls ! who could have been so cruel? 
All the mornings of my early childhood float past in memory, 
and I see the tree-tops shining in distant clouds of gold, 
beckoning to me to come to them. How often have I looked 
at their tender leaves without ever breaking off a single one. 
Ah. it cuts me to the heart, for it seems as if they could 
not speak any more. Their tongue being taken from them, 
their sweet murmurings must cease. In their silence lies 
their bitter complaint to me, which I must ever hear, confid- 
ing it to no one but thee. 

Dost thou remember how often, as we walked beneath 
them, thou saidst their murmuring voices took part in our 
talk, and how they separated us from the rest of the world, 
building a dome above us. The high hedge of roses opposite, 
rising above the wall of the bosket, stands now without pro- 
tection too ; and the nightingales, accustomed to the sacred 
silence and darkness — what will they do on their return in 
Spring? I am so sad about it. Then the childish days 
when I played with the cleanly pebbles, putting rows of pink, 
black, and yellow stones about their trunks, and under cover 
of their shadows climbing secretly over into the bosket. How 
the paradise from which the soul drew all its magic can be 
so cruelly destroyed ! But do not pity me ; only listen. When 
I returned to grandmamma I looked pale and excited, and 
she noticed the traces of my tears. She looked at me a little 
while, then said, " Thou wert in the garden ? " Then gave 
me her hand. What could I answer ? She was silent, and 
I too. At last she began, "I shall probably not live much 
longer." I dared not reply, and shortly after she opened the 
door into the next room, from which we can overlook the gar- 
den, and continued, " Their murmuring in the night-wind was 
my delight ; now I shall never hear it again, though happy I 
should have been to have fallen asleep by the sound of their 
voices on my last evening ; they would have rendered me 



212 



GUNDERODE. 



this last solemn service, the dear friends that I visited every 
day and saw with so much joy above me. Thou lovest them 
too ; they were also thy favorite resort. Often have I seen 
thee climb to their leafy tops when thou thoughtst thyself 
unobserved. Take my blessing, dear child ; I thought of thee 
when they were suffering mutilation, in spite of the wound it 
gave my feelings." I dared not ask whose fault it was, it 
would have pained grandmamma too deeply ; besides, I saw di- 
rectly that only from an intensely Philistine mind such a mis- 
deed could come, because such an one has no idea of a wound- 
ed spirit, and takes everything for sentimentality, that is 
connected with our deepest spiritual requirements. How 
can such people understand an affection for a lifeless thing, as 
the Philistines call plants, trees, all Nature ? How can they 
understand in what a sublime relation we can stand with its 
beautiful and faultless productions ? — a mutual exchange of 
feeling nourishing and gladdening the pure passion for it. 
How can they ever be made to comprehend that we impart 
our own being to them, and that while the worldly vainly seek 
among their fellows, searching for and fabling about friendship 
and love, the happy possessor of a tree before his door finds 
in it a friend. 

Even my old centenarian cousin met me at the door, ask- 
ing if it were not barbarous, and that grandmamma said 
nothing about it. " Had you been here, it never would have 
been done." At dusk I went into the garden once more ; to 
go there by day seemed an insult to the noble trees. I took 
leave of the garden ; I do not want to go there again. To 
the gardener in the bosket I also paid a visit, and he told 
me how much he regretted to have those trees cut down ; 
that they had always given him thoughts, and now he could 
not see anything more of them, and had lost pleasure in tend- 
ing the rose-hedge. Still, I replied, in thought we can al- 
ways see what we love, which he admitted. Then do not 
give up the rose-hedge ; the higher it grows the more you 
will feel that in memory all that was beautiful will bloom on. 
He acknowledged this, and promised I should never have to 
complain of its neglect when I came again. I find in the 
gardener real genius for such intercourse with Nature. 

Shortly before my acquaintance with thee, I sometimes 
mounted those tree-tops and wrote down my emotions, pro- 
duced by natural objects. Childish and imperfect as they are 



GUXDERODE. 



213 



in expression, I kept them in a portfolio, and will copy one 
for thee now, " in memoriam" 

WRITTEN ON EASTER MONDAY, TWO YEARS AGO. 

O heavenly green ! hidden on the brown earth 'neath ice 
and snow, now crowning thy bright head by the light of the 
sun. 

Beloved tree ! could I but change into thy soft murmuring 
leaves, those whispering sprays, of heavenly glory full, broken 
by the Muse with shining finger to grace the brow of her 
favorite, who, with helmet and lance, or armed with his bow, 
sending many a golden arrow, driving his steeds, or with 
winged foot twelve times circling the goal, or bursting into 
flames of song, he woos her. 

tree ! to-day thou art sought by swarms of bees that fol- 
low the fragrance of thy honey-filled blossoms, gathering their 
fruitful pollen, and buzzing pass the heat of the day in the 
cool fanning of thy leaves. 

But then will rest in thy shadows he, who is king at the 
feast of souls, and thy roots be nourished by the same floods 
that inspire the god in his bosom to all-conquering triumph. 

May nothing befall to pain thee, tree ! whom no Immor- 
tals are watching. In Spring, indeed, I dream beneath thy 
shadows, and think I hear the echoes of the Unspeakable 
ringing from woods and valleys. 

TO GUXDERODE. # 

1 read thy letter, and stand abashed before thee, to see 
how nobly and simply thou hast unwound the confusion of 
my thoughts, and cannot think of answering thee, I am so 
filled with restlessness. Those trees grieve me ; I cannot 
understand why grandmamma did not defend herself better ; 
that was being oversensitive, while they were cutting off the 
heads of her favorites. We must defend our own, and check 
the arm of the villain who attacks it. All the sublime and 
beautiful is property of the soul that recognizes it, and by 
this recognition it is in duty bound to protect it. Every- 
thing is "of evil;" it were then pure, free, conscientious 
truthfulness, and I know no higher precept for the soul than 
" Ask thyself ! " and if one cannot there find what is right, 
he is an ass. All terrors that oppose our will must be 



214 



GTTNDERODE. 



combated and despised ; it is the knight dipping the water 
of life between fiery dragons and iron giants, that become 
powerless by the courage of his disdain. 

In fairy-tales we find the most heavenly and the most 
powerful politics. I would become the greatest living states- 
man, and bring the whole world under my foot, if I had the 
blue library for my privy councillor ; how people would 
wonder at the wisdom I possess ! I would like to tell 
grandmamma, she will take it well enough, and I need not 
spare her ; why should I ? grandmamma has a profound 
mind, some people call it sentimentality. Depth is always 
power, and power knows not how r easily it can throw off its 
shackles. Have I not sometimes nearly exhausted my 
breath, — when we tried to make a fire in the woods for our 
pleasure, and it would constantly go out, — to light it again and 
again by the least spark. I will also blow into grandmamma's 
judgment ; why is she sad but to learn what was due those 
trees from her ; w T e owe all our strength to the world, but 
first to those nearest us. All impulse is a harrowing up of 
the heart's inmost depths, the weeds must be ploughed down, 
and truth enrich it, — I don't remember what I was going 
to say. I am too restless, and thou must forgive that I can- 
not answer thy letter. I would so gladly have returned to 
Offenbach to-day, but every one set out for Rodelheim, 
where covered by the great azure mantle of heaven we 
amused ourselves till night. I returned with Franz on foot, 
the others drove. Franz told me much that was kind and 
pleasant on the way, while I hopped along, clinging to his 
arm with both hands ; when we came to the Bockenheim 
toll-house, he asked me to lean on his left arm as I had 
stretched the right one a quarter of a yard, and he wanted 
them both alike. 

MONDAY. 

Meline goes to Marburg with Savigny, and declares I 
must go too, I have not consented, but Meline urges, " Who 
will care for thee if I do not ; here thou wilt w T aste, forget, 
tear, and give away everything, — thou must go." 

Shouldst thou return before they go, I will remain, for then 
I shall have a Sanctuary to fly to ; if thou dost not come, I 
know I shall glide on the ice of circumstance as I feel it un- 
der my feet, yet will it lead me back to thee just as rapidly ; 



GUND ERODE. 



215 



but Savigny writes he wishes rue to tell thee he has read in 
the stars that thou wilt come to Marburg. I enclose an- 
other leaf from my poplar-tree correspondence for thee : I 
have spent every Pentecost as far back as I can remember 
under these trees ; this I wrote last Pentecost ; it is the love- 
liest day in the year, on which crowned Spring triumphantly 
celebrates its victory. How completely happy I was on 
those days : every one went out into the gardens, or into 
the country, finely dressed. I too was clad in white, my 
hair well curled and tied with a fluttering ribbon, and in 
yellow slippers I visited the tree at early morning. On that 
day I could not climb up. as I would have spoiled my shoes 
and dress, so I pitied the tree, and rather than go to walk I 
kept it company ; knowest thou what attaches me so to Ma- 
ture ? — because sometimes she is sad. Others call that weari- 
ness which falls upon the heart sometimes like a stone in the 
midst of sunshine, but I interpret it in this way : Suddenly we 
stand without wishing it. face to face with the goddess : a 
secret consciousness of the infinitely tenderer care she de- 
votes to us than to all other creatures, fills us with awe ; each 
thing about us thrives, every shrub, every little bug shows 
deep forethought in its formation ; but where in the mind is 
the least bud. not gnawed by the worm ? are we not tainted 
with dust, and does one leaflet of our soul show in its glisten- 
ing green ? When I meet a tree sickening from mildew or 
canker-worm, or a blighted shrub, then I feel as if nature 
were thus giving us the picture of an ungenerous soul. Were 
all the failings of the soul conquered, anoj its powers in their 
prime, who knows if there would be distorted growth, or poi- 
soned weeds, if the blight would kill the crops, and venom- 
ous shrubs put forth their fruit ; who knows if there would 
be such sad moments in nature that wring the heart, and 
make us turn away because the heart shuns to feel the wail 
that responds within. 

No, she finds no hearing, although her motherly reproaches 
are tender, and she would wrap us in her veil, and draw the 
poison from us with her own lips, and mix the balsam of her 
blood to heal us. " To think without proof is to think 
freely!" let me but assert this with a proof, to show that I 
understand thee. — Thinking itself, is to feed on truth, else 
it is fancy and not thought. Thinking is to drink the balm 
the mother mixes from her blood to heal our weaknesses ; it 



216 



GUND ERODE. 



is lending an ear to her tender reproaches, so that by proof 
to demonstrate this love to one's own heart, which yields 
itself to us without reserve, is proof sufficient that it has not 
touched the heart. Truth touches the heart ; it is the spirit 
that becomes immediately elevated by the conception of 
truth striving still higher. Thou hast risen higher in this 
recognition of the purer spirit-form, and thrown away thy 
crutches. One asks, How will the mind progress without 
crutches, having no feet ? Then also it throws aside the 
close fitting garb of convention. See I have wings, and thy 
defence, how wilt thou undertake it without weapons? — ask 
the Philistines. I am a god-athlete, and he who would 
w r restle with me must feel the triumph I achieve without 
weapons, all the more deeply. Then am I, and they who 
wrestle with me are no more, and he whom I do not con- 
quer is not worthy to give me battle. Indeed I feel dis- 
tinctly and convincingly how right thou art ; to advance truths 
without proof is the sole and pure source of language. Lan- 
guage and Spirit must love each other, and they will need no 
mutual demonstration; their reciprocal understanding is Love, 
lifted to the stars by its eternal impulses. Thou art conquered, 
thou art a prisoner of the Spirit, it possesses thee, steps for- 
ward and expresses thee. Good-night ; how late it is ! 

WRITTEN TWO YEARS AGO ON THE MONDAY OF PENTECOST. 

Ye trees that hide me, your shadowy green is mirrored in 
my soul, and from four high branches I longingly gaze into 
the distance. 

Yonder flows the stream, not heaving upon the shore its 
waves, nor does the wind chase its merry ships, the clouds. 

The bright day wanes, and my thoughts hearken if per- 
haps a messenger on rushing wing will bring an answer 
from thee, O Nature ! 

O thou to whom I call ! — why answerest thou not ? 
Eternally splendid, life-giving One ! 

With awe, deep awe, does thy creation till me, Lord God ! 

Now the chariot of the Thunderer descends, there is a 
rushing, then a fragrant breathing; where to, ye mists, ye 
smoke-clouds, whither do ye wander? Wherefore am I? — 
Why am I upon thy bosom, Nature, if from thy depths it 
gushes not up to me, as from the mountains gush the bubbling 
springs ? 



GU XDERODE. 



217 



On quiet days I hear thee slowly rolling over the hills. 
Thunderer ! and the chords of my soul vibrate, and tremble, 
but it cannot sigh. 

Joy and Hope, often have ye rocked me like these swaying 
tree-tops, endless ye seemed, as now the dreary day. 

Then break the clouds, and stream beneath thee. Lib- 
erator ! and the thirsty earth drinks,. — and thy peals of thun- 
der, where roll they ? — Breathing again, cradle-songs whis- 
per in your leaves that surround me. 

Gladly will I live with ye. all ye trees that drink the 
blessed streams from heaven, and jovously move in the wind ! 

TO GUXDERODE. 

This morning I was awakened by the call of the Italian um- 
brella-men. which had an irresistible attraction for me ; I 
thought of course the Italians must scent the rain, else they 
would not go about so early. I made Liesbeth call up the man, 
and ran myself to Meline who was still in bed. — Would we 
not buy an umbrella to take to Marburg with us? — Meline 
was frightened and thought I was in a high fever to be inquir- 
ing for an umbrella ; meanwhile il signore Pagliaruggi was 
brought to the door and a green silk umbrella purchased, 
which, having an immediate desire to try. I forthwith sallied 
to the Fair before the gate by the Maine. I stopped at a 
marble-vender's, purchasing at least thirty marbles, one finer 
than the other, of agate, marble, and crystal: with these I went 
down to the Maine where the pottery people stand, and visit- 
ed them in their straw huts, their donkeys greeting me with 
hearty screams, and also the little shirtles> ones, running and 
climbing about, among whom I divided my marbles, and as 
they are naked and have no pockets, I was obliged to give 
them my gloves to keep the marbles in, which they tied about 
their bodies with a cord. Hardly was this accomplished, 
when a ferryman called to me if I did not wish to be taken 
over? I asked. Will it rain? -What harm if it does, you 
have an umbrella with you." After I had crossed over, I 
thought I would go to Oberrath. to grandmamma's milk-wom- 
an, and get some milk : but when I reached the house, the 
people there told me that Anne-Marie had just set out with 
her milk for the Tanner's-Mill. and when I got to the mill, 
Anne-Marie was just setting out for Offenbach with her milk. 
I told her I was going too ; she had at least twenty ba>- 



218 



GUNDERODE. 



kets of vegetables piled upon her head, and, with her can 
on her arm, the great vegetable tower marched along, and 
I behind her, through hedges and ditches. Presently Anne- 
Marie says, "It's beginning to sprinkle, we shall have a regu- 
lar deluge directly ; wait a moment and I'll give you one of 
these little baskets to put upon your head and the rain won't 
come near you." Here I bethought myself of my protecting 
roof, of my umbrella — where had I left that? — either with 
those shirtless urchins, or in the boat, — both very possible, so 
that I could not test its excellence ; instead of it, then, I put 
the milk-woman's little round basket of cauliflower upon my 
head, whereupon she informed me that I looked as handsome 
under it as the finest Paris lady. It was very amusing ; we 
met many people who probably thought I was learning to 
balance. The rain soon ceased, and I had, without thinking, 
run on to Offenbach, where at the foot of the Chestnut Av- 
enue I took off my basket. There was real Sunday weather 
in the town, the sun shone brightly down, and in the Dorn- 
strasse a Jolie lay before every door, with a blue silk rib- 
bon about his neck. All the Jolies are my friends and came 
barking up to me, so did the spaniels and poodles, and at last 
1 was joined by Anton Andree's English hound with seven- 
teen puppies, all old enough to bark quite vigorously. The 
milk-woman stopped a few times to watch the capers and 
eagerness of the dogs, as well as from fear they might 
throw her vegetable tower out of balance. " Ei," said she, 
" the Turkish emperor could not meet with a grander recep- 
tion ; there is no end to the clamor." With this escort we 
rang the door-bell, and cousin informed us that grandmamma 
was still asleep. I did not want to go to the garden, so I 
remained before the door with the dogs, when good Herr 
Arenswald came by ; he took off his hat to me, and I did not 
tell him to put it on again, having observed a hole in it, and 
being desirous of hiding this knowledge from him. He told 
me he had made a journey to Switzerland in the course of 
the summer, not having been able to suppress his desire to 
see that country. He did not regret it at all, he said, al- 
though it cost him a great deal, indeed he believed he had 
spent his last penny on it. I was slightly abashed and did 
not care to look directly into his face at this confidential 
communication, when my eyes fell upon his boot, from which, 
the rogue ! his big toe presented itself quite uncalled for* 



GUND ERODE. 



219 



Arenswald would absolutely not endure it at the conference, so 
he tried to hold it down with the heel of his other boot, which, 
alas ! was blown open, like an ill-fastened shutter by the wind ; 
so where should I turn my eyes ? I looked at his body, 
but there all the buttons were wanting, his waistcoat being 
fastened by hair-pins ; where can he have fished up those ? 
he wears a Caligula, which is the greatest artistic confu- 
sion known to the capillary system, for which neither pomade, 
comb, nor hair-pins are requisite, only dust and straw, so that 
the sparrows and swallows can always find building-material 
there. ' Meanwhile he told me that something very remark- 
able had occurred to him in Switzerland ; namely, he had 
been told that in a certain wooded mountain-region a kind of 
snail w T as to be found which tasted strongly (welche sehr 
schmecken), and that on the way to Luzern, somewhere on 
a mountain-path, they were to be found in plenty. On com- 
ing to the place he really found them in quantities, eat several 
of them, and became quite satisfied. When he returned to 
his inn, he ordered dinner not to be served for him, as he had* 
found so many of those w T ell-flavorecl snails, and eaten them 
• with so great an appetite, that it were impossible for him to 
take anything more. " How," said the Landlord, " you have 
eaten of those snails?" — Yes, and why not, did you not tell me 
yourself that they had a good taste, and were eagerly sought 
after by people ? — " Yes ! ' taste strong ' I did indeed say, but 
not ' good ! ' To taste, in our dialect, means to smell bad, and 
people here collect the snails for the tanners who use them 
for their leather." Thus had I partaken of this tanning in- 
gredient, which seemed to agree very w r ell with me, re- 
counted Herr Arenswald, while I gazed about in the air, very 
much flushed, as there was no other place to look without 
happening on a gross exposure of utter destitution. The 
snail-story may be truth or fiction, at any rate it was told to 
give me to understand what hunger had compelled him to do. 
My cousin called me in, and Arenswald took leave of me as 
he would of a high potentate, stepping backward as he sa- 
luted, which led me to conclude that he might not be present- 
able from behind either. Well, then, first the reception on 
my entry, the manifestation of which was in the Turkish im- 
perial style, according to the milk-woman ; the basket with the 
cauliflower being my crown, and my canopy the umbrella I 
had left in the boat ; my first audience, too, was conducted with 



220 



GUND ERODE. 



all the marks of imperial dignity ; on the way I had distributed 
liberal gifts to the naked urchins, and Arenswald's audience 
amounted only to an humble commendation of human misery 
to my gracious consideration. What more can I desire ? I 
always had a forboding that I should rise to high honors, 

I shall condescend to reward the unusual efforts at self-sus- 
tenance of the snail-eater to-morrow, when Jew Hirsch goes 
to Offenbach, if it does not escape my memory like the um- 
brella ; this is a weakness I have in common with all crowned 
heads. Grandmamma was very kind ; we spoke of thee, and 
she is desirous of having a visit from thee on thy return. I 
told her if she permitted it, I would accompany Meline to 
Marburg. She seemed much flattered by this little demon- 
stration of respect in asking her consent, which she gave with 
her blessing, calling me " daughter of her Maxie," " little one," 
and " dear girl," curling my hair as she spoke in her Suabian 
dialect, which she only does in a cheerful, soft-hearted mood, 
inspiring one with reverence for her amiability. I was struck 
with her manner, as four days ago I found her so deeply 
pained, almost bitter, at the disregard shown to her ten- 
der heart. She showed me a coat of arms in a splendid # 
frame of silver oak-leaves, with a motto to this effect, in 
Greek, " Love must govern all, else the world will perish." 
It was given to grandpapa by the city of Trier (Treves) for 
having, when Chancellor under the government of Trier, re- 
fused the decree of the Elector to impose a tax that he found 
too heavy upon the rural population ; and when his remon- 
strances proved of no avail, he preferred to resign rather than 
affix his name to an unjust decree. In all the places he 
passed through, the peasantry came to meet him, presenting 
him with the civic crown, and in Speier his house had been 
decorated and illuminated inside and out for his reception. 

Grandmamma told me a great deal about the Stadion 
mansion, in which she lived so long with grandpapa, if I 
could only remember it all. One thing I shall not forget, 
and that is her boat-excursion on the Pond of Lilies, where 
they were obliged to have a skiff go before them in order to 
mow a path with a scythe through that forest of water-plants ; 
how from both sides the sedges and flowers fell over the boat, 
and the butterflies swarmed about them. All this . she re- 
membered as though it had happened yesterday. 

I avoided thinking of the poplars ; the pitiful figure of 



GUNDERODE. 



221 



Arenswald rising so briskly and courageously above his misery 
into freedom, lifted me from the sphere of sentiment, and I 
will lay any wager, now that he can eat woocl-snails he will 
venture upon much more, and as soon as he has enough to 
fit out his feet for a journey, all the rest must follow, and 
he will learn to eat a variety of other things besides. Grand- 
mamma took occasion herself to begin about the trees when 
she showed me the coat of arms, and said the motto had 
really proved a recompense to grandpapa ; and often, in later 
years, when he was obliged to live with the greatest economy, 
he would say, " What can I desire better than this ? " The 
coat of arms hung over his writing-desk, and as he stood in 
high esteem with peasant and citizen, his counsel was 
often sought by men in difficult affairs ; and in accordance 
with the motto, he moved many to justice or forbearance. 
Thus he rose so high in the public esteem, that his decision was 
more effective than legal proceedings, and many a one who 
could have fought his way through by the letter of the law, 
came to peaceable terms, in order not to have grandpapa's 
judgment against him. A complete reconciliation also took 
place between him and the Elector, who acknowledged him 
to be perfectly in the right. Grandpapa refused the ap- 
pointment offered him by the Elector, saying, "If God has 
taken away my covering, and it pleases him to let me go 
naked in this world already, I will not hold a livery of state be- 
fore me as a fig-leaf covering for human ambition. I am at the 
service of the Lord Elector in all just causes, as God has 
made me, who never is ashamed of his creations. I have no 
desire to leave my paradise, not wishing to be incommoded 
by the fig-leaf raiment. I am the most shameless fellow 
under the sun, and my Lord Elector the most modest virgin 
to be met with among the dignitaries of the church, who will 
permit none of his friends to go nude, much less let them 
appear so before him. For my part, I am better pleased to 
show myself in my natural state among your masqueraders, 
as it will give me the advantage of their not knowing them- 
selves, for they know so little what it is to be men, that one 
who unveils to them the nature of a man, as it can stand be- 
fore God, naturally shows them that they themselves are mon- 
sters." In this way grandpapa answered the proposals of the 
Elector. Grandmamma has still in her possession a corre- 
spondence containing several autograph letters from the Elec- 
tor, besides the copies of grandfather's answers. 



222 



GUNDERODE. 



Grandfather published a book, written against the Monas- 
tic institutions, that created a great sensation in those days, 
and was translated into French. Grandmamma gave me a 
copy of it. This was the first cause of dissatisfaction be- 
tween him and the Elector, as so many of the abuses of the 
monks were exposed by it. Finally it proved the first step 
to their reconciliation, as the Elector acquiesces in a letter, 
saying, " We shall probably owe a religious revolution to this 
vermin that plagues me more than Lazarus, to whom I com- 
pare myself, was plagued by his boils ; hardly a week passes 
which does not bring disagreeable reports about these un- 
wieldy monks, and the mantle of the Christian Church, un- 
der which they are packed like a bale of codfish, hardly suf- 
fices to cover their filth." Upon this grandfather wrote a 
splendid letter upon religion and politics, which I cannot en- 
tirely remember ; but each word of it seemed to weigh like 
gold ; he says, " In a great heart, politics must issue from its 
religion, or rather they must be identical ; and an active man 
who employs his time for the purpose it was given him, has 
none left to devote to different objects, and his religion must 
manifest itself in him in an entirely cosmopolitan light." This 
letter is so splendid, so disinterested, and so elevated above all 
the trifling aspirations of ordinary men, and yet so vigorous, 
that I must believe from the living heart springs all philoso- 
phy, but with flesh and blood, and a heart throbbing for all 
good, ever active, purifying this earthly life, making it whole- 
some like a stream of fresh and spicy air ; this, the philos- 
ophy based upon the triangle, and leading a dangerous dance 
between attraction, repulsion, and highest potency, threaten- 
ing to knock sound common sense in the head, so that it must 
withdraw, a disabled cripple, from the combat, does not effect. 
Yet the history of our natural lives is the task appointed us 
to learn ; and I think if subtlety would separate from the 
conceit of vague speculation, and turn upon the actual con- 
dition of our sensuous daily life, then there would be no 
thought so deep, or so elevated, but it would find a place in 
the transactions of our daily life, growing and strengthening 
in moral significance. I should like to resemble grandfather, 
before whom princes and peasants were equal, meeting them 
all on the footing of reason, and agreeing with them according- 
ly, and to whom nothing was ever indifferent ; as though it lay 
beyond his range, he would say, " That which I can judge of 
with my reason is within my power, in my jurisdiction, and 



GUXDERODE. 



223 



I must loudly and publicly decide, if I would be answerable 
to God for the reason wherewith to do it. He who uses his 
pound well will have it increased, and be appointed master 
over all." Of this I am convinced ; but do not believe that 
the philosphers will reach this point. I believe, according to 
grandfather's principles we can attain the deepest philosophy, 
namely, peace, and the union of the profoundest spiritual 
knowledge with active life. 

Grandfather wrote yet another letter to the Elector on the 
abuse of the many holidays, and worship of the saints. He 
wished an improved religion on a purer basis, instead of so 
many legends, miracles, and relics to reverence the great 
deeds of men. their noble aims, their sacrifices, errors, dis- 
cussing them from the pulpit, and expounding them in their 
true sense, and not falsely ; in short, to make the history and 
wants of humanity a necessary topic of contemplation to the 
people, were better than to let them spend their Sunday af- 
ternoons with brotherhoods in senseless repetition of hymns 
and prayers. He proposes to the Elector, instead of pro- 
tecting these weak-minded forms unworthy of the times, to 
found a brotherhood to awaken the human mind instead of 
bringing up idiots by these senseless, mechanical practices ; 
we could then promise absolution from sin with a better con- 
science, as God wanted stupidity neither in this world nor 
that ; God were a better steward than the Elector, as he al- 
lowed the sound mind of no one to go to ruin ; because in the 
other world the soul only could live, the rest belonged and 
remained a petrifaction on earth. 

It is a noble correspondence full of simplicity, in which 
grandfather does not once deny his character ; the Elector 
too writes nobly, and it is a merit in him to find pleasure in 
such wholesome truths, especially as he was not considered 
a mentally active man, on account of his extreme corpulence. 
I asked grandmamma if grandfather had had this influence 
over him ? She said, " My dear child, has not the slightest 
breath of air an influence on the human soul ? why then 
should not the pure, disinterested spirit of thy grandfather 
have influenced the Elector ? Was he not elevated to his 
high position by the confidence placed in him by the whole 
country, so that the Elector himself was forced to acknowl- 
edge the injustice of his own demands. This alone shows 
that the Elector had at bottom noble sentiments, and the sac- 



224 



GUND ERODE. 



rifice thy grandfather made was not trifling. He occupied 
a high position, had five children still very young, but he ex- 
changed all this for a small cottage in Speier, and cultivated 
a small garden near the water, enjoying perfect content in his 
occupation." Grandfather had a particular fancy for crimson 
carnations, and I am glad to inherit this peculiarity from him. 
I was two years old when he died. He used to carry a gold- 
headed cane with which I played, and I well remember how 
he smiled at me, and how I let it fall in astonishment at his 
great black eyes, and stared at him. It was the first and 
last time I remember seeing him. That same night he had 
an apoplectic shock. By grandmother's account my memory 
was so awakened, that it seemed to me I could recall all his 
features plainly. He wore a cinnamon-colored velvet coat ; 
even the little three-cornered hat, with its gold border, I 
recollect, as he took it off and, putting it upon my head, 
carried me before the glass ; I never thought of it before, but 
now I recall the circumstance plainly. Is this not like an 
apparition ? — cannot Love conjure up ghosts. In that mo- 
ment, I was so inspired and so full of love for him, that I 
thought I could make a communion of our spirits possible 
by the power of my imagination, when grandpapa w r ould 
whisper all the good to me that came into my head; and I 
believe it was so, for why should the influence of such truth- 
ful sentiments cease for us with death? I said so to grand- 
mamma, and she answered, " The spirit of thy grandfather 
rules me yet, else how could I have overcome the grief at my 
dear trees so soon, had I not recalled his teachings ; it was 
for this that I took out the coat of arms of Trier and these 
letters of the Elector, especially this one in which the Elector 
asks forgiveness, to which thy grandfather answers so gener- 
ously, yet so cheerfully. He wrote to the Elector that he 
would never forget him as the founder of his fortunes, that 
he had thereby given him an opportunity to test his own 
principles, and now that he had fought his way through, he 
felt himself easy and in a peculiarly happy state of mind. 
This moves me to forbearance towards those who have in- 
jured me. — It depended very much how an injury were re- 
ceived, one should not thereby throw greater blame on others ; 
forgiveness were absolution from blame, and God would be 
propitiated by human generosity. Grandfather further said, 
' Count that as nothing which is done to you.' No chastise- 



GtbsDERODE. 



225 



raent is beneficial except it be for the benefit of him whom we 
punish, else it is useless revenge, only to make the offender 
more miserable, and that this revenge^were a much greater 
sin against the offender, who must have a sacredness in the 
eyes of men. because he were placed at their mercy as 
well as at God's ; therefore as God was forgiving from hu- 
man generosity, we must forgive, and not let the world 
perish for want of love, according to the motto on the es- 
cutcheon, and it was for the sake of her Laroche that she 
now bore it without bitterness. The trees had been cut 
down this year, and she herself would certainly miss them 
only a little while longer ; that she did not wish to cause any 
regret in future by manifesting any vexation about them 
now, because she wished every one to be happy, especially 
her family for whom she had already made so many sacri- 
fices." About grandfather she yet told me. that support was 
offered him by the whole country, and he might have 
lived on a grand scale if he had desired to ; but all these 
marks of esteem, connected with so much nobleness of soul, 
emanating from the purest motives, he had refused to accept 
from the rich, but from his peasants, whom he continued to 
help, he took what he needed, saying, " One should not re- 
fuse the widow's mite." She has promised to tell me more 
about him as I was so eager for it. and I shall soon visit her 
again. The coat of arms she will keep for me, and give it 
to me before her death. I had rather have the correspon- 
dence, I believe ; for something of this kind I have skill to 
preface and enrich for publication ; I should find enough to 
add to it, as I only have ideas when influenced by others ; 
alone I can think of nothing, but when I see something great 
and real in other>. I directly am full of corresponding 
thoughts that wake me as from a dream ; perhaps I could 
also gratify Clemens by this who induced me to many an 
undertaking that left me quite cold. Invention I have none, 
but I know if I were to read through grandpapa's letters. 1 
would soon think of all I required to add to them, I know so 
much about him, and grandmamma could tell me still more. 
I have never questioned her exhaustingly ; I have especially 
avoided speaking of her religious views, for fear of displeas- 
ing her, but during this conversation she began of her own ac- 
cord : k4 Seest thou, my child, that the golden field of the past 
bears grain, without which many a one would die for want of 
15 



226 



GUNDERODE. 



spiritual nourishment ; round about us where the course of the 
sun begins, and where it closes, where with burning ray it 
scorches the plains, and where long it hides its cheerful coun- 
tenance, everywhere flowers sprout, which collected serve 
as mementos of the childhood of our race. Thus the past 
belongs to the day of life. It is the root of my own. Thy 
grandfather was a good man, and a good citizen, influencing 
as such both prince and subjects, and his wife, to the present 
day. One past deed, then, is not for its own good, it works 
on without end ; thy grandfather said it came from the spirit, 
and all that was perishable was not spiritual." 

It was noon, I would like to have spent the day with 
grandmamma, had they known in Frankfort where I was. 
At the Tanner's-mill I met Clemens with my lost umbrella ; 
he had crossed the Maine directly after me, and taken it 
from the ferryman, but had stopped at Wilmer's. We now 
floated down the Maine together in the sunshine, with out- 
spread canopy. Clemens goes to Mayence to-morrow, he 
will visit thee after all. There was great parade at the Pri- 
mate's yesterday, all the old-nobility colors were flying. The 
gentlemen had to climb with uplifted feet over trains five 
ells long. The Primate led me into the cabinet where the 
flowers are, and had two bouquets cut, one for me and the 
other for Meline, and this was noticed as a high mark of 
distinction, and we were treated with increased considera- 
tion, which culminated when on taking leave the Primate 
handed me a package neatly sealed in white paper. Every 
one believed it to be a princely gift, perhaps a snuff-box 
memorial. No one considered that the Primate had too 
much good taste to inflict such a folly upon me, yet all were 
amazed that without great thanks I tucked my gift under 
my arm. I was infinitely amused to hear the many remarks, 
and finally danced for pleasure in the anteroom at the curi- 
osity it created, while all crowded about me with requests to 
open it, which however did not move me, else the joke would 
have been at an end. Especially Moritz was tormented by 
curiosity ; he wore a green velvet coat, and made the 
round of all the mirrors during the evening, absorbed in ad- 
miration of his own person. As soon as he discovered the 
transmission of this mysterious package, he pursued me, but 
he was the last person I would have told. The parcel con- 
tained nothing but what thou hast probably already imagined : 



GUND ERODE. 



227 



a few old Jewish annals, and the Drusen family for grand- 
mamma ; I am to read it, and it will be a hard n-ut to crack. 
If I told of it, the Primate would sooner be held a fool to at- 
tach any importance to my opinion, than I intelligent enough 
to do credit to the distinction of having him ask it. It may 
keep people in awe of me ; did they know it was only paper, in- 
stead of a snuff-box, they would take it for a quiz on me by the 
Primate. Last night it occurred to me to give my canary-bird 
to Bernhard's gardener ; he will take good care of it ; and it 
will give him pleasure ; then he will know that 1 still remem- 
ber him ; for they were pleasant days in which he taught me 
to graft. Thou dost not know how much I learned about 
propagating orange-trees by a leaf, and about carnations. I 
will send him my orange and pomegranate trees and the great 
myrtle, I know he will take pains to make them blossom ; I 
have always feared to lose them in winter. I am sorry that 
I must leave grandmamma, as she has taken it into her head 
that she will not live long, since the affair of the trees ; she says 
she does not want to live, to hear the trees she has tended 
during so many years crackle in the stove next winter. How 
much more I would now like to know about her ! I am ashamed 
to have been so careless. She might have told me so much 
about mamma, about whom I know so little, excepting that 
she was worshipped. Grandmamma says : " Be assured 
that had Venus-Urania had another child beside Cupid, it 
must have been the image of thy mother." 

Sometimes I doubt if I shall go to Marburg or not ; dost 
thou not think it were better I remained here, — it would 
be so pleasant to spend the last year of grandmamma's life 
cheerfully with her. I thirst for the blessing of old people 
since I know what death is. There seems to me something 
sacred in the last years of man, and just as when a child I 
liked to bury toys, and things I loved, in the earth, so would 
I like to lay down my longings, thoughts, and forebodings, in 
the breast of those whose demands on earthly things have 
ceased, and who will soon be under the ground ; do write 
me about it. On the other hand, Christian's letters tempt 
me very much, he looks forward to our spending half a year 
together just as we did in our childhood, promising himself 
much pleasure from my stay, and how he will teach me so 
much. Read his two letters to me, and write what thou think- 
est I ought to do. Farewell ; write soon. bettine. 



228 



GrUNDERODE. 



All the world here is occupied with the reception of Bona- 
parte ; they are building a triumphal arch on the Raben- 
stein where the gallows used to stand. 

TO BETTINE. 

What thou writest me about Arenswald's remarkable crav- 
ing for Nature, so strong that he forgets to nourish himself, 
troubles me ; do not neglect to help him, and let me know if 
thou hast done it. The affair of the trees is very sad ; was it 
thy description, or did those voices blending with ours in peace- 
ful murmurs really touch my heart ; I cannot be comforted. 
Yesterday we were on the Ostein, and the oaks rustled right 
royally. Thy grandmamma, and her accounts of thy grand- 
father pleased and touched me ; had I not so much personal 
interest in these things as I have, I should still look upon the 
occupation of collecting those narrations from the mouth of thy 
grandmother as beautiful and desirable. All that gives an 
impulse to the heart, refreshing and filling it, is sacred to me, 
even if no trace of it remain in the memory ; but here where 
thou canst discipline thy mind in treating a subject, syste- 
matically developing it in framing its own views, it would be 
of more value still. I always rea$ biographies with peculiar 
pleasure, since it seems to me that fiction cannot reproduce a 
complete human being, because the conception of it must 
naturally be one-sicled, and in its complication remain un- 
attainable, consequently untrue, as one feature must decide 
or make evident another. Thy relation to grandmamma 
would be a beautiful one, and the collection of thy mother's 
early traits a work of filial affection, which at a later period 
may be of the greatest interest to thee, especially if thou suc- 
ceed in writing them down with that spirit of direct sympathy 
peculiar to thee — all this suggests itself, but I have not de- 
cided to counsel thee. When I consider the great distrac- 
tion to which thou art exposed in your house, which thou 
canst not possibly avoid ; all the strangers that come, the 
Primate who prefers thee, and whose assemblies thou canst 
not avoid — how all this divides thy time, even if thou devote 
ever so little to thy toilette, still in that circle of beautiful 
women thou wilt every moment be drawn into consultations; 
thus with thy liveliness and talent for the picturesque I see 
the entire winter passed in the combination of colors and the 
choice of dress, so that grandmamma will not be able to im- 



GrXD ERODE. 



229 



part much of her treasure to thee. Marburg on the contrary is 
a spot where thou canst live like a recluse, at least thou art 
exposed to no dissipation there : Christian's letters promise 
so much that is beneficial to thee, besides thou hast not lived 
with him for a long time ; and will it not be pleasant to live 
with one again who has so much genius, such high, pure con- 
ceptions of science, and who speaks so deeply, so appreciat- 
ing^ to thee : a brother too may be torn from a sister by 
all manner of circumstances, they may perhaps not meet a 
second time, therefore one should not heedlessly overlook a 
fortunate chance- On the whole, which position seems most 
elevating to thee ; the one in Marburg, moving in a limited 
circle but with dear Savigny, standing so high above others ? 
having him near thee, he will count thy presence among his 
happy moments, defending thee against thy own humors, that 
often verge on the indolent and melancholy. Besides I think 
there must be much enjoyment in having the broad landscape 
before thee in its winter dress, for the country around Mar- 
burg is very beautiful, and invitingly smiles before the win- 
dows. Or dost thou prefer that dissipation, beginning first this, 
then that, and at last despairing of thyself in deep vexation ? 
I think thou couldst come to the aid of thy good resolutions 
very much, and achieve thy ultimate aim, by carrying on a 
detailed correspondence with thy grandmother ; thy letters 
would no doubt please her. and she would not neglect to an- 
swer thy questions concerning the youth and mind of thy 
mother, as well as what thou desirest to know about thy 
grandfather. Thou needst then only add thy own remarks, 
taking the precaution to have the whole re-written by some 
harmless copyist. In this way thou wilt have a pleasant 
occupation for spare moments, acquiring more completely and 
successfully that for which in Frankfort thou wouldst in vain 
make preparations. This is my opinion, but I do not intend 
to have thereby laid down the law. Good-by. 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUND ERODE. 

Bonaparte passed through here without seeing his temple. 
The gallows were taken down and a temple raised on its 
foundation, I believe it contained his statue ; the whole was 
illuminated on the holiday, when all sorts of entertainments 
took place. That the Galgenfeld (Gallows-field) was se- 



230 



GUNDEKODE. 



lected for this purpose, afforded particular amusement to the 
inhabitants of Sachsenhausen. 

Clottie is lying sick upon the sofa, I spend nearly every day 
with her, and watch at night if she is worse. Everything 
goes on in its old course here, and thy letter came just in 
time to convince me that on the whole thou art right. 

The Englishmen are the chief persons here just at present. 
Evenings Moritz reads aloud Mad. de StaeTs " Delphine " in 
the supper-room, which for me is the most absurd thing I could 
listen to, so I sit down and amuse the children meanwhile, 
which vexed the reader not a little ; indeed I must go. Le- 
on hard i gave a ball last Monday, to show his newly furnished 
house ; he has had his walls painted all over w 7 ith Egyptian 
monsters. Yesterday, again, there was a reception at the 
Primate's ; I am tired of them, so I hid myself as the others 
were ready to drive off ; they searched for me everywhere ; 
I was hidden in my bed, and Franz was angry, so in order 
to pacify him I bethought myself of a very good expedient. 
In Tonie's kitchen I found a large basket of turnips, these 
with the assistance of the servants I peeled very nicely, 
scooped them out inside and placed a candle in each, illu- 
minating the stairs and the hall. It kept me busy till mid- 
night and was very silly. I would have done better to go to 
the Primate's, especially as he sent me word that I was to 
dine with him and the Bishop next Friday and spend Fast- 
Day, because I did not come. 

Yes, I shall go, I am on the way in my thoughts already, 
and Meline has made all the necessary preparations, indeed 
I'll go ! The only regret I have is to leave just as thou art 
coming back, that I am away while thou remainst, but I will 
do it because thou thinkst it best, and because I recognize 
thee, as my good genius ; no, not thee, but he takes thy voice. 
I am glad that my feelings are to be frozen hard this winter ; 
I look forward with pleasure to everything. 

To Arenswald I sent some money without impoverishing 
myself in the least, for in looking over my papers I found a 
quantity of stray money which I did not remember possessing ; 
I put it all into a little purse and sent it to him, and the 
canary-bird to the gardener. Before leaving I shall go to 
see grandmamma with Meline, and ask her, as thou wishest, 
to correspond with me. Adieu ; perhaps I shall write no more 
to thee from here. I am so glad to go, and long for the 



GUXD ERODE. 



231 



beautiful winter landscape, I am, according to thy description, 
to have from my windows. I know beforehand I shall be in 
ecstasies. I cannot keep still to write, the excitement of the 
journey pervades all my limbs, and I run up and down stairs. 
Poor Claudine, who will tend her? She has promised not 
to be sick during my absence, for I am jealous of my care of 
her ; how many nights I have watched and mused, or read 
interesting books ; should she be ill, I hope thou wilt visit 
her often. I was out on the old Fortifications too, to take 
leave of our favorite walk. A great many leaves have 
fallen already, and I stepped through with a great rustling, 
while the trees still rained down leaves over me. Moritz 
will stand faithfully by his " Delphine ; " I'm glad not to be 
obliged to hear that any more. bettlxe. 

MARBURG. 

Canst thou think who was the first acquaintance I made 
here ? A Jew ! but what a Jew, the handsomest man ! — a 
white beard half an ell long, great brown eyes, a fine, unas- 
suming presence, calm brow, and splendid, majestic nose; the 
lips of an orator, from which wisdom must flow. Our host, 
Professor Weiss, called me, saying, " If you would see a 
handsome Jew, then come to my wife's room, she is just 
making a bargain for her wedding-dress." Meline would 
not go, and was astonished that Weiss should ask us to pay 
compliments to an old-clothes Jew, but I did not find cause to 
regret it. 

It was a picture for an artist. There he sat at the table, in a 
very cleanly Rabbi's or Elders robe, his hand, appearing from 
the dark flowing sleeve, rested upon it. and the red sunset 
beamed in at the windows. Frau Weiss stood before him, 
displaying her wedding raiment, or rather that of her 
mother, for it was of very antiquated material ; her children 
stood on either side of her, unfolding the train. It wras 
orange-colored brocade interwoven with silver bouquets, and 
garnet-colored flowers. The colors contrasted beautifully 
with the brilliant tints of the sunset ; it was a most beautiful 
picture, and I would gladly have called Meline, had not a 
diffidence, not to say reverence, held me back, for I could not 
treat this man as a subject of vulgar curiosity. Then too 
there was something mysterious in seeing the people stand 
around him, quietly awaiting his decision on the bargain. 
They spoke of a sum, including some more old-fashioned 



232 



GUND ERODE. 



articles upon the table. I pretended to be busy examining 
them, to have a decent excuse for staying, because the more 
I looked at him the greater became the attraction, shy as I 
felt, and Weiss would not have got me from the room as long 
as the man remained. The Jew ordered his grandson, who 
was standing behind his chair, to spread the articles out for 
me, and I pretended to be highly pleased at a dress of vert de 
pomme, with apple-blossoms, observing meanwhile that the 
old gentleman looked at me askance, which secretly pleased 
me. Professor Weiss said, " Now, Ephraim, we must first 
take a glass of wine together. You will take some too, will 
you not ? " he said to me. He filled the Jew's glass first, 
who handed it to me ; I said I did not take wine. " But will 
you not taste it," he asked. I took it and sipped a little, he 
thanked me and emptied the glass, then looked at me with a 
smile as if he would say, " Art pleased with the homage I 
do thee ? " I returned the smile, but colored deeply for pleas- 
ure. Weiss conversed with him about all sorts of things, 
from which I saw that he held him in high esteem. Weiss 
said, in reference to me, " What do you think of my pretty 
students, Ephraim ? They are going through their first course 
here, I will recommend you to my students and have no doubt 
it will give you pleasure to instruct them." There was so 
much agreeable refinement in all he said, and in the manner 
with which he turned off Weiss's good-natured jests, that I 
might not be offended, which prepossessed me entirely, and I 
really was very careful not to give him any answers that 
might awaken an interest in him for me ; thus I chatted with 
him for two hours, and was already thinking how I could 
manage to see him oftener, when, on leaving, as he passed our 
door, I told him I had a sister there, and was desirous of 
having her make his acquaintance too, whereupon he prom- 
ised to stop there when he came again. I look forward 
to it with pleasure. 

From Frankfort I took leave like a hare running across a 
snow-field, hardly leaving the prints of its little paws in the 
snow, nor was there a huntsman who would gladly have shot 
me. I was very merry at the Primate's Fast-Day dinner, 
and when I took leave he said, " I look forward with pleas- 
ure to your return," and taking me by the hand he led me 
through the entire anteroom. At Offenbach I discussed 
everything with grandmamma, but into the garden, where the 
trees rustle no more, I could not go to bid farewell, much as 



GUNDERODE. 



233 



I wished to, for I felt more at home there than with all the 
rest. The gardener I visited too, to inquire if he would 
take my tree^ into winter-quarters, and to say that as soon as 
thou returnedst from the Ehinegau thou wouldst come for the 
bird. He wished to know if I would not leave it with him, 
and I promised to do so, shouldst thou consent that he may 
keep it. I was guilty too of an amusing bit of coquetry ; I 
took the bird from its cage, and kissing its little bill, I said, 
" Adieu, good gardener.' 7 

When I returned to grandmamma's it was nearly night ; both 
Meline and Tonie wanted to drive home, but I begged them 
to remain a quarter of an hour longer, and when night had 
entirely set in, I stole down to the garden and -closed my eyes 
until I came to the poplars. I comforted them with words, 
because I thought, Who knows how thou mayst fare, and if at 
some future day thou dost not stand so helpless too, that thy 
friends shun thee because thou art sad. My heart was much 
relieved, and I should go oftener if I remained, because 
how could I repay them if I did not now stay with them as 
formerly, and what would become of the beautiful mystery of 
my intercourse with them, were I to deny them now ? It 
were just like the everlasting love for a hero, that scatters 
like chaff when he is shot a cripple. 

It has become clearer and more comprehensible to me, that 
to idealize is Genius, — a soul arising from my soul, dwell- 
ing in the impulse it receives ; so tenderly, so nobly I can 
feel. The rustling trees moved me ; at this my soul awoke, 
arising to give life to them ; and should this soul turn from 
them now that they are in earthly misery ? Were it not giv- 
ing death to me through them. No, indeed, we should live 
doubly for every unfortunate one. 

Before we left I still had many a conflict with the others, 
who had not quite concluded if I were not a burden to Sa- 
vigny, as one believes, knows in fact, that he thinks nothing of 
me. Now I have not a particularly high opinion of myself, 
but as I am just as fond of him as ever, I have no hesitation 
in being near him, although he seems to entertain a dislike 
against my temperament, and on this account I feel all the 
more triumphant in thy indulgence towards me. He insists 
that I am conceited, — sometimes I half believe it, becau-e 
he is wiser than all the rest of us, and judges character better 
in consequence. At the same time I assure thee I rejoice ex- 
tremely in this conceit, thinking there may be something in 



234 



GUND ERODE. 



it, else he would not allude to it. I wonder what he thinks 
makes me conceited. Ha, ha, ha ! — this means, I laugh ; 
but at what ? Why that Savigny knows nothing of my tender 
passion for the Jew, that I dislike all fine people as being far 
too vulgar, and because no one in the house knows that I am 
so overbearing to-day on account of a particularly agreeable 
adventure. I was in the garden which lies on the slope of a 
hill, looking over the wall, when I saw Ephraim coming 
along the road. I leaned over the wall as far as I could, and 
let my handkerchief flutter in the wind that he might notice 
me ; when he came up we spoke together for some time, but 
not as ordinary people speak. I told him that I was glad to 
see him, and that his presence produced a sympathetic mo- 
ment in which my perception and feeling seemed nearer re- 
lated than at any other. I told him it seemed like evening 
twilight ; thus his eye and his whole manner impressed me, 
like twilight spread over a grand mind. At such a time my 
penetration is greater and my mind unbends confidentially. 
Thou canst think that it is well worth while to speak to him, 
else I would not have told him such things. He replied, 
" The outward world is dim, but with a quick eye one need 
not search long to find by a rapid glance that which is relat- 
ed to one's own mind." — " But," I asked, " how do you ac- 
quire so keen a penetration ?" — "One must look at nature 
alone, and admit of no prejudice ; that makes one clear- 
sighted." I asked, " Do you hold me capable of looking at 
nature with a clear, unprejudiced eye?" — "Yes," said he, 
" and I know I do not err in attributing penetration to you." — 
" Then T am not mistaken in recognizing an inspired man in 
you." — "You are at least nearer than others who take the 
Jew for an oppressed man. Freedom bubbles within, and one 
drop is enough to lift us far beyond contempt." I heard steps 
approaching in the unfrequented path and broke off, because 
I am fond of this mystery with him. I said, " Good-by, 
Jew, do not forget our conversation, and come to me when 
thou returnest from thy journey." 

Who now has the most penetration, — Savigny for my con- 
ceit, or the Jew for my trusting, unprejudiced eye? I do not 
deny that Savigny is right, for what is my joyous overbear- 
ing but conceit at my deception of him in regard to the Jew. 
Other people have told me so too ; only when I took leave 
of Moritz he said I was conceited, because I told him I left 
Frankfort in order that he might read his five volumes 



GUXD ERODE. 



235 



of " Delphine," and that when he had finished I should 
return. 

The whole tea-table crew pounced upon me, declaring' me 
to be the most conceited thing under the sun, believing my- 
self above everything, considering nothing as instructive, and 
that " Delphine," written by the best authoress in Europe, 
wearied me ; if any one spoke upon a serious subject, I lay 
down upon the floor, kicked a little while with my feet, and 
afterwards dropped asleep, but that any insipid jest would 
please me. I ask, Is that conceit ? It rather seems like igno- 
rance that cannot appreciate your enjoyments. " Yes, but con- 
ceit is ignorance." There, thou seest it is the unanimous 
opinion. I think in the end it has proved contagious to Savig- 
ny. I shall soon w r rite to thee particularly about the country, 
the people, and our dwelling. Meline and I live at the top of 
the hill, Savigny below ; the whole place is terrace-like. 
Adieu, I must go to help Meline upholster a divan for us. 

BETTINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

The third week already, and I have not written to thee, 
nor thou to me ; w r hat is the cause ? I have meanwhiles pied 
out the country round about, marking the different points 
from the skylights in the garret ; I made a pilgrimage 
through the woods in the thickest rain of leaves, from one tall 
stem to the other. Trees are trees, but they do look down 
upon men contemptuously, as they run hastily beneath them 
for health's sake, without once casting a single look upward. 
In company with Savigny I met there the entire Faculty 
taking its airing; in moth-eaten furs, hoods, great felt shoes, 
and antiquated gaiters, they infest the paths. Hilly ground, 
dense moss, glazed by the frost, pure cold air to make 
one hearty, everything new and surprising; the Muse led 
me over stock and stone, giving me the whole woods for 
thee ; before every king of the forest I stood still to examine 
it from head to foot, and in taking of possession I struck each 
one with a stick. The old Palatine of Hesse- Cassel may say 
what he pleases, the forest belongs to thee, and when I roam 
about in it, I am pleased to consider myself in thy territory. 
Spring-time here must be like the inmost soul, spring without, 
spring within, one will, one deed ; if the apple-tree blooms 
then, my cheeks grow red ; if the self-willed brook rushes 



236 



G UNDER ODE. 



headlong down its stony stairs, I follow it, leaping back and 
forth ; when the nightingale calls, I run out, and when the 
mill-wheels waltz with the Lahn down into the valley, I 
whistle to them from the hill and watch them out, beyond 
the smoking huts and the protecting trees as they mirthfully 
caper ; the miller and his sweetheart too, when they think them- 
selves unwatched. Morning sentiment and evening melan- 
choly are not permitted ; in the blossoming hedges there is 
spring jubilee enough, humming, buzzing, and breezy sighs. 
But because it is winter and not spring, I only wanted to say 
how cheery and wholesome all things in nature are, — such 
unrestrained love of life, one would have to be ashamed of 
dreamings and longings instead of a joyous blooming, rustling, 
and bubbling. I do not think that it is possible, in the very 
heart of the hardy Hessenland, to be different from the 
homelike spot of earth itself rolling beneath one's feet ; stum- 
bling and clambering, it entices thee up hill and down, then 
invites thee heartily to sit and repose on the hill-side lawn, 
and in thyself. Early winter-days have set in, and Meline is 
sick of a sore throat, from which every one suffers ; Gunda 
too is not well and goes to bed every day before sunset. 
Savigny and she live in a part of the house under our lodg- 
ings, divided from it by terraces and a yard, so that I am 
left quite alone with Meline, who lies quietly in the next 
room. I am refreshed and rejoiced by this solitude. Our 
imaginative physician is also a Poet, he brings poems which 
he reads to us at twilight ; beams and dreams, sighing and 
dying, glide gently by my ear. One rises to give one's hand 
to the Doctor, which he presses silently and earnestly, with 
spiritual mien, further praise is not bestowed. Thus swells 
the bud of mirthfulness softly, softly in the breast, and soon it 
will burst into a merry blow, (Blu^t) as the Hessian peasants 
call a blossom. Nothing of sentiment, of the sublime, the 
united, the ecstatic and inspired, nor the rest of the high-flown 
spiritual household. What I am in myself, I impart to thee, 
without exerting myself with the beautifying principles of 
morality. I will now wait and see what tone my soul will 
strike, perhaps it is as hardy as the dear Hessenland. 

I begin to think that I was not at all born for society, could 
I ever give up to my imagination without becoming heated 
at the senseless contradiction of others ? — did I not go to sleep 
at the Primate's in the buzz of all those fine people, and did 



GUXD ERODE. 



237 



I not fancy that all those clearest to me had become insane ; 
with their jabots of Point cVAlencon projecting half a yard, and 
their diamond buttons, and with a queue stuck to the back 
of their heads. I nearly died of shame to see them running 
about with their queues as though they bore a mark of merit. 
And is it not de^radino- for the free soul to force outward sions 
of insanity upon it. at the mere order, to do honor to Napo- 
leon ? George pulled off his queue and threw it upon the 
floor among the people, and the Queen of Holland slurred it 
through all the rooms with her train ; I saw it done, and secret- 
ly amused myself. To avoid all the folly which is the order of 
the day. I shall not go there this winter. One cannot be 
amused long with the insipidities emanating from a circle of 
persons, who without any foundation call themselves the 
educated world. One person close beside me bit into the 
necklace of her neighbor in order to see if the pearls were 
real, and I saw her vexation that they did not break. In this 
way everybody is vexed at everything that is real, and could 
I then do any better than go to sleep. I said to the Pri- 
mate when he quizzed me about it, that I did it to avoid giv- 
ing offence, as I was made of real staff, and truly I felt 
lowered in my own eyes to be among them. My freedom 
here makes me happy, roving about in nature in the midst of 
which I live. The hut of the recluse in the wilderness cannot 
be more buried in its lap than I indeed ; I may even feel my- 
self a part of it, which does not give the feeling of shame that 
comes over me in society, when I feel that I am not as they 
are, but makes me joyous and self-confident in its goodness, 
and preference of me over others. When I can step directly 
from the window of my sleeping-room upon the wintry hill, 
then on the old dangerous wall that here has crumbled away 
and there ascends to the skies, climb to the ramparts of the 
old ruined Fastness on the top of the hill, over hedges and 
ditches, where only reckless courage ventures, with not a single 
human being to be seen in the far distance, all alone with 
Nature. I speak to her loudly, ringingly, and no one hears it ; 
now that I am acquainted, each bush nods kindly to me 
with the few brown leaves the winter-wind has left it, when 
I can sit down beside it on the wall, without growing 
giddy. Ah, what a pleasure to climb, how rapturous is 
daring youth ! Even if 1 do come home sometimes with a 
raw knee, as to-day for instance, or with a scratched arm, I 



238 



GUND ERODE. 



do not feel it at all ; indeed, if I mistake not, I am rather glad of 
it. " Harden ! " said the smith in the forest as he hammered the 
glowing iron; this the Landgrave of Thuringia heard, and 
forthwith became hard as iron. " Harden ! " I said to-day as I 
slid down the wall from which there was no other mode of 
descent, and in consequence I was not hurt. " Harden ! " I said 
to Meline who prepared to be terrified, when she saw traces 
of blood on my dress as I entered the room, and I had to 
suffer her to heal me with beaume de Chiron. u Thou wilt 
yet break thy neck," she prophesied, " now that there are so 
many slippery places on the hill from the melting snow." I 
write it down, so that if it comes to pass, thou wilt know she 
has prophesied truly. But certainly these exercises taught 
us by nature are preparations for the soul ; everything be- 
comes instinct even in the mind, and it does not consider, 
shall I or shall I not ; it teaches it to keep its balance, in 
climbing and leaping ; it attaches or detaches, that is, the 
longing for a pillar against which one can lean in this world, 
or for a staff to journey on with, becomes ridiculous ; we soon 
discover that we can go alone on tolerably rough roads, and 
acquire great confidence in mounting steep paths, by practice. 
Not even timidity and inexperience tempt one to seize the 
first shrub in one's way, that by bending and breaking turns 
traitor, and breaks the neck of Confidence. I would like to 
know if the whole inner man cannot be expressed by the 
exterior, and if " rope-dancing " would not develop a higher 
diplomatic talent than the compounded confusion of empty 
correspondence, spirit of intrigue, and observance of trifles ? 
Or if to skate gracefully, would not teach us to glide with 
easy grace between all contrarieties ? Would coolly and calmly 
managing a restive horse not awaken the power in us of 
overcoming our own passions, leaching us gradually to de- 
velop the good from the evil in others, and self-command in 
danger ? We are a quick flame of presence of mind, with which 
we form a resolve and greet the sublime, even if it springs from 
a childlike spirit, not ever and ever worshipping the serpent- 
skin that the god-youth, the Genius hovering over the Times, 
has thrust from him long since. Indeed, if on the whole this 
unrestrained exercise among the allurements of nature, this 
exercise of our powers in so far as it develops and strengthens 
our limbs, does not also strengthen our inmost soul, that it 
becomes too elevated, too noble for this little world-school, 



GUXD ERODE. 



239 



outgrowing the shears with which it cannot be reached and 
trimmed any more, not enduring but overthrowing the un- 
worthy. Just as little as I ask any one out of doors : Shall I 
jump over this or that, depending on my own impulse, should 
not an inner power be answerable for the mind too ? Do we 
perhaps only seek advice because we are timid ? Does it 
seem too fabulous for the Spirit to rise in our midst, that 
reveals the wisdom of Heaven to us ? What can more easily 
help us subdue the power of antiquated prejudice foreign to 
our nature, than to leave the young germ of that instinct so 
much light and air that it can bloom ? A more elevated 
spirit can only be produced out of itself, as it is only the 
mighty impulse for development in us that creates the ne- 
cessity for this development ; consequently each spontaneous 
impulse of the mind is a progress of the germ. Therefore, 
to let the inner spirit rule and no strange one is the origin 
of it.. Is it not a thousand times better to fail out of our 
own misconceptions than according to the advice of others, 
if one will return home, and crosses the borders to inquire 
the entrance to his own house ? How i> it ? Are not then the 
sacred powers, whose alliance we call Conscience, choked in 
the bud ? Will not the impulse of foreboding cease, and the 
penetration of the spirit die ? If I command silence to my 
own voice, and follow a strange one. then am I no more in 
my own power and must submit to repudiate my better self, 
out of regard for others. Listen ! had I a difficult task to 
solve in life, I would not go to the experienced worldly-wise 
for advice ; not to those who know how to make a bargain 
with their earthly life, nor to those who wield the law. I 
would ask the childlike, because children have the divine 
wisdom to which we must return if we would do right, and 
which is our only share of the kingdom of heaven, for we 
ourselves build heaven by our free and noble deeds, else will 
it never be known on earth ; but there is confusion in every 
language, each one desires something different, no one will 
understand the other, therefore our inner voice alone can 
teach us the right language again. Oh, he who lets it speak 
does great deeds, and yet retains the simplicity of nature, for 
nature is grand, and man shall become great. If he thrive 
in body and increase in generations, then too shall he thrive 
in spirit and increase there also. And as from our sensuous 
nature, care, nurture, growth, and security, develop from it- 



240 



GUNDERODE. 



organism, why not in the soul ? What is spiritual life but its 
existence, by its own creation ? What do we restrict more 
than its free growth ? and this has been from age to age that 
it shakes its unworthy chains at our unheeding ears ; and we 
fear these chains ; an independent assertion of the mind 
might overturn the world! Indeed, but how sublimely would 
it arise from its own ruins ! Is not fear an evil demon ? 
Fear of error is fear of man ; if we but listened to the child's 
voice in our breast, it would pass away. Is erring Error ? 
May it not also be the independent course we take? an 
attempt to move in a sphere transcending all opinions ? Is 
opinion not the knife with which we slay the new-born, spirit- 
ual fruit, in the lap of Error? has any one ever reached this 
point in his mind, that he, like the bold chamois-hunter, can 
cross chasms and clefts with unerring leap, in passionate 
pursuit of his game ? But what is Passion ? is it not that 
unexercised power of the mind, that sensuously breaks forth to 
exercise itself! Be it the track of the chamois which the 
hunter pursues, or that of the white hind with golden antlers, 
enticing him by a thousand turns and windings into the thicket, 
to the entrance of labyrinths where mysterious powers 
await him, touching his eyes and ears, that he may under- 
stand what only the pure, daring, self-controlling mind can 
conceive and understand. Could I only travel into the Tyrol 
to free my spirit by the chamois-hunt, I should be so much 
better satisfied with myself, and the power to attain the great 
would not be lost in me, but vigorously put forth its arms on 
all sides. 

Molitor has sent me Herr Engelmann's " System of Edu- 
cation ; " he probably thinks because I was so fond of going 
to the model school with him, that I take an interest in ed- 
ucation generally. This however was only on account of the 
poor Jewish children, who there enjoyed their mite of hu- 
mane treatment in common with other children, and, to tell 
the truth, the only object of importance in that system 
seemed to me this : Early to accustom children of the same 
age and the same faculties to feel that they have equal hu- 
man rights, be they Christians or Jews. Be kind enough 
to inform Molitor what I think of my own education. That, 
by climbing high, I seek to avoid the evil snares that would 
seize my mind, afterwards to fetter and bind it, and that 
64 Thoughts on the Education of Girls," by Engelmann does 



GUXDERODE. 



241 



not seem practical to me at all, as the best education one can 
give them is to leave them to God, therefore 90 Carolins are 
too much. 

I enclose a sheet for Molitor, and you may tell him, as 
supplement, that I count it among the tortures of the Philis- 
tines to be troubled by such things. People who hatch such 
" Systems of Education," may set their own wits to work to 
criticise them too ; they will not submit to be set right by me, 
and only exclaim that I empty the child with the bath, which 
is true enough, as the child is an ugly fright, and shall not 
sit in the bath like a human being. 

I was really sorry to be obliged to write to him about it, 
because 1 do not like to sully my pen with Philistine notions ; 
it is a real sin, and committed from sheer good-nature, but I 
shall not write again. Do me the favor to tell him, to leave 
me in peace with " what is, and what will be," but to send 
me the " Sulamith " as often as it appears ; nonsense as it is, 
I must yet know all about the Jews when I return to Frank- 
fort ; the Primate reads it too. I will give thee a message 
for the Primate ; do not fail to deliver it. I wrote to grand- 
mamma to send the Drusen-Weihe (Ordination of the Dru- 
ses) to thee ; wrap up the enclosed letter with them, and send 
the package to the Vicar-General at the Taxis-Mansion ; 
write a double address, the first one to the Vicar, who will 
forward it if the Primate is in Aschaffenburg. Do not put 
off doing it. bettine. 

I have involuntarily closed my letter with a message, al- 
though 1 wanted to tell thee so much about some plants and 
mosses I found in the woods ; purely architectural figures. 
A word in itself is always beautiful, not so a thought, if not 
uttered in beautiful words and conclusive order. There is a 
certain romantic disorder, or, rather, accidental order in Na- 
ture, which is very enticing, even fascinating, and so pene- 
trates one with love and joy, that it far outweighs all luxury 
and sublimity in its relations to the soul. I have always 
thought, when in the fairy tales a splendid palace rose oppo- 
site the hut of the two beggar-children, how sad it was for 
them to leave their moss-hut and move to the palace, which 
I was afraid might hide the view, as nothing seems lovelier 
to me than for Nature tenderly to interweave its caprices where 
man invents. Should it not be the same in thoughts and 
16 



242 



GUNDERODE. 



feelings ? Should Poesy not be as intimate with Nature as 
with a sister, leaving part of its cares to her ? sometimes giv- 
ing up its sacred laws for love of Nature, breaking the fetters 
of custom to rush with eager desire into her arms, freely to 
breathe on her bosom. I am well aware that Form is the 
fair and faultless body of Poesy, as produced by the human 
mind ; but should there not be a direct revelation of Poesy, 
without the defined limits of Form, penetrating our inmost 
more deeply, awfully ? one that more quickly and naturally 
identifies with the mind, perhaps more unconsciously too ; 
but again from out of itself creating and producing a spiritual 
existence ? Are there not moments in Poesy when the mind 
forgets itself, flowing onward like a spring that gushes from 
the rock ? flowing in the bed of sensibilities, of youthful rapt- 
ures, penetrated by light, breathing joy and ardent requited 
love and all through the vitality infused into it by Nature ! 

In thy poems I feel what seems a silent array of pillars 
across a distant plain ; against the far horizon the outlines of 
mountains swell softly like the waves of the summer-sea, ris- 
ing and falling like the breath in the bosom of the gazer ; all 
is lost in silent worship of this sacred symmetry. Passions, 
poured like libations upon the hearth of the gods by the pure 
priestesses, gently flame upwards. Like a silent prayer in 
thy poesy, are resignation and happy love ; a soft gleaming 
of dewy buds, opening in the wide plain to the starlight, and 
tremulous breezes, scarce rising against the slender pillar of 
language, scarce reflecting the purple of the rose in the 
shining marble form around which it twines ; veiling to the 
world the secret meaning and the power bubbling up to thee 
from its depth ; a dreaming spirit wanders through those 
plains, which in the realm of Poesy thou hast appropriated 
to thyself. And ever, when I dare look up to thee from 
my childish pursuits, I think I see a bride, whose priestly 
robes do not betray, nor her face express, if she is sad or 
joyous in her ecstasy. I carry a pang in ^my bosom, that 
with difficulty I suppress in thy presence ; a secret desire to 
draw thee from thyself, to make thee forget thyself, and leave 
but once those pillared aisles before which the myrtle modestly 
blooms, to go to my forest-hut with me, and sit down before 
its door, a thousand bees buzzing about us, drinking their 
fill from the flower-cups in my garden, and the tender doves 
winging their way back to my roof in the evening, where 



GUNDERODE. 



243 



they are more at home, and make more ado than the love and 
friendship of men, for they maintain their prerogative to 
drown all thinking by their cooing. Thus did I see my mind 
before thee, my dearest one ! I see thee wandering past the 
grove where I am at home, just as a sparrow hidden by dense 
foliage watches a solitary swan swimming on the quiet waters, 
and, hidden, sees how it bends its neck to dip into the flood, 
drawing circles around it, sacred signs of its isolation from 
the impure, the unrestrained, the unspiritual ! — and these 
silent hieroglyphics are thy poems, that soon will blend with 
the waves of time, idealized by a spirit of peace, and the 
dews will yet fall that rose from thy soul. Yes, I see thee, 
swan ! holding converse with the whispering sedges by the 
shore, and the soft wind, thou gazest after, as it bears onward 
thy sighs, far, far over the waters, no messenger returning to 
say if they were ever landed. But no, soul is borne by its 
pinions so high, that it can compass space with a fiery glance, 
kindling the holy fire of creation with its breath. Thus will 
flames arise, swayed by the law of the breath from thy soul, 
to kindle the hearts of youthful races believing themselves 
manly in boyish conceit, not knowing that the breath of youth 
that fires their breast never arose from the bosom of manhood. 
What do I think? I think the spirit breathes ; it is nourished 
by the elements, and drinks the air, living in its delicately 
vibrating life. Also within the earth Nature's moral and 
social laws are busy. The air weds itself to the earth, as the 
spirit to the word ; the roaring of the wind, the rushing 
of waters uttering melodies of life, and every being bears 
within it its own love, longing, and gratification, that their 
flames may force the portal of eternal youth ; so think I. To 
thee, more than to any one, belongs golden peace, and that 
thou be separated from all that might disturb the powers which 
form thee ; I feel as if I must lock thee up and stand sentinel 
before thy doors, steal to thy couch at night to drop dew 
upon thy brows. I know not what thou art, I am undecided ; 
but where I wander in solitude I am ever seeking, and 
where I repose I think of thee. 

There is an old tower here at the end of the hilly garden, 
with a broken ladder inside, that no one dares to mount ; 
but I can get up with a few scientific leaps, and find myself 
quite alone, looking over the land, who knows how far? But 
I do not see. I carry myself out into the distance where it 



244 



GTJNDERODE. 



is lost in mist, not drawing my eye to account for its impres- 
sions, glad to be alone, and that all is mine as far as I can 
feel. Up there I am with thee, and bless the earth in thy 
name. 

Farewell. I shall soon write again and more distinctly. 
Through this letter I feel an electric vibration, as when a 
storm begins to lift the waves, to which Jupiter Tonans has 
not decided to give his consent. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

I was absent from Frankfort until the beginning of this 
week, and hoped surely to find letters from thee, as I feel 
somewhat anxious, although I have a secret foreboding that 
thou wilt soon rush upon me in torrents, and carry me away. 

My visit at Heidelberg was both agreeable and instructive, 
which latter thou of course wilt not allow ; but when I tell 
thee that the old walls infused their spirit into me, and not the 
people, it will find credit. On leaving thou didst send Oster- 
tag's miserable translation of " Suetonius " to my lodgings, 
probably to be returned to the Library, and in no book have 
I ever found so many traces of thy diligent study as in this ; 
four or five pages of written extracts, in which thou hast put 
all the misdeeds of the twelve emperors to one account. 
What moved thee to a study usually so repugnant? I try to 
find an explanation for it. Thinkst thou that because they, 
as great men were not free from the sin of tyranny, to ab- 
solve thy great man ? I jest, yet would I like to see thy face, 
if it is quite free from the enthusiasm that naturally arises 
in a mind excited by that constant success in all encounters 
with Fate which I call luck, others " cosmopolitan patriot- 
ism," and are easily led to play a part in it, if one offers ; be- 
cause it is said he has a " lucky star," and in consequence of 
the astral emanation every one feels compelled to do hom- 
age, which from simple admiration soon goes over to idolatry. 
But I will not draw down thy wrath upon me, and candidly 
confess whence this evil thought springs ; it did not origi- 
nate with me. People say that thou wert intensely excited 
when the Emperor made his entry, and that on seeing him 
thou didst weep, entirely beside thyself. Claudine told me 
all this. If it were true, it is still not necessary for thee to 
be carried away by him, as one may be greatly agitated with- 
out being inspired for a subject. I will not torment thee fur- 



GUXDERODE. 



245 



ther with unpleasant words that are not seriously intended, 
any more than will punish thee a little for thy belated let- 
ters. 

I have received a package of manuscripts for thee from 
Offenbach, probably the novel. Shall I keep them for thee 
or return them ? About Clemens too I have a great deal to 
tell thee that is good and pleasant, showing ardent devotion 
to thy welfare. 

He is deeply serious in saying that thou wilt be lost to the 
future by thy carelessness, and he carries it so far as to blame 
me also in his ardor. One letter thou wrotest to him, in 
which my opinion is quoted as proof of thy incapacity to 
compose, or rather produce. For this I had to suffer ; he 
showed me thy letter, saying, " Who writes thus can com- 
pose." I submitted to everything quietly and quiescently ; do 
what thou thinkst besr. 

There in Marburg thou probably hast but little diversion, 
so who knows what thou mayst yet accomplish or what thou 
may st think of. If thou hast thoughts, they will certainly 
fall from the skies. Too bad that this long looked for phe- 
nomenon will not take place ! 

I beg thee to write soon, that I may again follow in the 
course of thy events and experiences. I feel very solitary, 
and my eyes prevent me from writing much. 

CAROLINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

Dearest Echo, I must tell thee something about the painful 
weariness I experience in everything I undertake, because 
I have yet heard nothing from thee. I think that if I do not 
call, thou must ; but no, thou art only the Echo, and I may 
not hope to hear from thee till thou art reached by my voice. 
Yesterday I sealed my letter and gave it to the footman to 
take to the post, when, lo ! he returns it with a huge pack- 
age of letters, thinking to have received instead of having 
been sent to deliver it, and now it will not go before four 
o'clock to-morrow. This return and detention of my letter, for 
which I desire wings, and which I never seal until it actually 
begins its journey, disturbed me. My memory is so short, 
that as soon as I have sealed a letter I already forget the con- 
tents, and only retain a lingering feeling as to how thou wilt 
be affected by it ; but soon I begin to doubt if it is not all 



246 



GUND ERODE. 



fancy in thinking to have imparted deep contemplations to 
thee, and feel discouraging doubts about what to do with the 
large package of letters that cannot possibly contain much 
wisdom, when my head feels so very empty. Then I am 
sad not to have yielded thee my soul unveiled, as it is re- 
ceived by God, sending thee a torrent of words that strive 
and strive to breathe a flame up to thee from the fathomless 
ocean in which we all swim. I would like to open the letter 
to see but for a moment that I had my heart on my tongue, 
and yet, sealed, it seems already like thy property that con- 
cerns me not, as God deprives me of it as soon as with flushed 
brow I have written it down. Indeed it has several times 
happened that I found one of my letters when with thee. It 
was entirely strange, and I was much surprised at the 
thoughts. 

To-day, then, for reverence of thee, I dismissed thy letter 
inviolate, not wishing to penetrate the secrets God commits to 
thee by my hand, else would he not so speedily take all rec- 
ollection of them from me ; therefore canst thou more im- 
plicitly believe in that which reaches thee thus. 

Christian, who wrote such earnest and loving letters to me 
at Frankfort, often causing me contrition because they attrib- 
uted so much higher faculties to me than will ever be awak- 
ened, now goes round me, carefully probing my ingenuity, 
only to discover that the mines of genius are partly exhausted, 
and the fields of knowledge only sterile soil, the light and 
enthusiasm nothing but mist ; yet he does not forsake me, 
but provides teachers. Schaffer, was to study history with 
me, but as he is very serious and thorough, insisting that 
the free, enlightened human being is to fix its entire and 
undivided attention upon the subject, he could not go on 
with me, it was against his conscience ; and he intimat- 
ed to Christian that it were better to occupy me differently, 
as I had nervous sensations when figures were placed before 
my mind, or when I was to distinguish earlier from later 
periods, and remember names, and that he could not con- 
scientiously rob me of time and money. I regret that he 
too is stricken with blindness in regard to me, and possessed 
with the droll idea that I study to know, to acquire knowl- 
edge. Heaven forbid ! it would only be filling inner space with 
things that would be in my way. If a traveller accumulates 
too many things, he does not know where to stow them ; and 



GUND ERODE. 



247 



if he is accustomed to superfluities, he must have a baggage- 
wagon to follow him. To wrap my cloak about me and 
jump out of the window, is according to my mind, for I will 
learn to drink the air, breathing the spirit by which I live, 
and exhaling it. not swallowing it like an intellectual ballast 
which will finally suffocate me. But no one will admit that 
such absurdities are according to nature. In the end. to be 
sure. I should know nothing. This I would freely acknowl- 
edge, but I should be wise, which they will not acknowl- 
edge. I would become spiritualized by the volatile salts of 
Knowledge, feeling then a breath of vitality, a kiss, (if you 
permit me to say so.) a fleeting one. leaving an impression 
that I realize, immortalize within me. 

To know and to be knowing, are two different things ; the 
first is gaining independence in Science, becoming an indi- 
viduality by means of it. — a mathematician, an historian, a 
lawyer. — all these belong to the fossil world, and is Philis- 
tinism in a certain deeper sense. To be knowing is to thrive 
on the healthy soil of the mind, where the mind can bloom ; 
there we need no memory, no separation of the imagination 
from reality. The desire for knowledge alone seems to me but 
as the greeting of Soul and Spirit, a tender contact with the 
Truth, energetically revived by it. as lovers by Love, by Na- 
ture. Nature is the beloved of the Senses, and spiritual 
Nature mast be the beloved of the Soul ; by constant life 
with and enjoyment of it. they gradually unite, but do not 
keep an account of everything, spelling out and reckoning 
up. Well. I cannot complain as long as I fare as well as 
here : I Hit about like a bee. and where I find an open flower 
I slip in and taste of it, and drink my All, if I like it. Old 
Professor Wei--, in whose hou-e we live, is a little garden 
for me in which I yet find all sorts of open blossoms. The 
good old man knocks at our door, and there he stands, in 
smoking-cap and dressing-gown, asking to light his pipe, as 
candles have not yet been brought to his rooms ; then I walk 
up and down the garden with him a little while, and he shows 
me the constellations. Orion, the great and the little Dipper, 
while he puffs the smoke into my face. In this way he has 
entertained me for three weeks past, as often as the weather 
Was fine, telling me about the dancing planet-, thereby vastly 
increasing my desire to know more. It has. however, not 
left any scientific deposit whatever ; it was rather an unveil- 



248 



GUND ERODE. 



ing of the secret charm of the spiritual. Then, at night, I 
have yet had thoughts - — stragglers — over which I went to 
sleep enraptured. Dost thou know what it is to go to sleep 
enraptured ? It is to be in sweetest solitude with Nature, 
when her eye alone rests on thee, looking into thee and thou 
into her ; both wrapt into one cover, like two children drink- 
ing each other's breath. Thus I feel when accidentally I get 
an inkling of her ; but when it is measured out to me, and I 
am to render account of it, then I feel myself wronged to the 
very soul, for I do not want to know anything. I am ashamed 
and pained to think that the exuberant mirthfulness on the 
playground of my sour shall be stopped, and the singing and 
soaring cease, where in an instant all is spent as it is won, 
and not a thought of provision for the future interferes. 

I have yet another pleasure. The old gentleman has a 
little greenhouse, a chamber with two windows towards the 
sun, where he keeps plants that he has raised and cherished 
during long years. I go there with him, helping him to 
cleanse them from dust. Many I was unacquainted with. 
He told me their names, their homes, and their history, how 
he came by them, what good and bad luck he had had in their 
care. All this is lively and interesting, for he is old, sickly, 
has many children, and consequently many cares. It is now 
his greatest pleasure from the so-called abundance of this 
wide field of scientific life, when these few tropical plants, 
that thrive on his love in a foreign land reward him by a 
scanty bloom. In the germ he already sees if it will put forth 
flowers or only leaves, counts them all, watching daily how 
they thrive, and no leaflet stirs but what he sees and under- 
stands it. Thou shouldst hear how he remarks upon their 
opening, their coloring, economically dealing out a share of 
sunlight to each, that none may fall short ; and yet he goes 
daily to his old leathern lectures, which he has read once every 
six months for the last twenty-one years. With drooping ears 
he goes the accustomed way to the mill. Can a healthy human 
mind endure thus ever and ever to chew the cud of what it 
once has acquired? No indeed! it must cease sometime, and 
I think one would rather forfeit eternal life than impart one's 
knowledge over and over again, transmitting it to posterity; 
we must abdicate it sometime, not so ? Should one desire to 
take the old thesis into eternity ? No, indeed ; just as little 
as the gold-laced coat, full-bottomed wig, decorations, titles, 



GUXD ERODE. 



249 



and honorary offices. We feel very well that such trash is 
improper before God. 

But how the mind coincides with Xature, who. is its friend 
and beloved, how it develops in and through it, this is essen- 
tial before God. If, then, knowing and possessing must change 
into not knowing and not having, what harm if I quickly al- 
low everything to evaporate ? 

To know is to be a mechanic, but to be knowing is the ex- 
pansion of the soul's life, and that of the spirit with it in Na- 
ture. But Life is Love. 

Be indulgent; everything must be called out to thee, dear 
Echo, and do not be alarmed if it does not strike thee like 
sound common sense. Do we not amuse ourselves by imi- 
tating the bird in the bush, the sighing winds, and the wild 
things in the wood ? When Weiss saw how much pleasure 
I took in the plants, he gave me a botanical book. I selected 
the mosses because they are yet to be found under the snow, 
and have a microscope through which I examine them. I 
discover a world. Everything runs and rushes as through a 
forest ; it only needs the sound of horns, hounds, and guns, to 
think one's self present at a royal hunt. Besides, I have the 
pleasure of looking down from above like God into this busy 
life. When I recount to Weiss how it seems to me, he lis- 
tens as though it were gospel, and is refreshed by the lies 
and fables of my imagination. He says, " If I did not have 
to follow the plow, I would chat with you all day." This is 
good for me, else it would be too much. 

SATURDAY. 

Yesterday evening I spent in a thorough test of my pa- 
tience ; the hour of twilight was once more filled with all 
manner of gifts from the Muse. Schaffer, who is a refined, 
intellectual man, was among the listeners. Savigny is ex- 
tremely amiable to his friends and acquaintances ; he beams 
with benignity, and every one around him feels unconcerned- 
ly happy and cheerful. Poems were read by their authors. 
This is difficult both for the reader and listener, as there 
arise two questions, — whence come the poems, and whither 
do they tend ? Most of them claimed their descent from 
the ardent genius of Love, and maintained their right to en- 
ter the heart. I sat in a corner and heard a long poem with 
my ears ; but my heart yearned to be out on the snow in the 



250 



GUND ERODE. 



starlit air. The stars have a sound, a speaking tone, that is 
far more audible in a clear winter-night than in summer ; 
perceptible, not audible, as everything in nature is only per- 
ceptible, even if the outward senses do not perceive it. I 
dreamed myself out into all the world, while the verses were 
rolling on the poetic highway. It seemed to fall heavily upon 
my neighbor's heart too ; he sighed deeply several times, then 
drew out his memorandum and scribbled something into it. 
T took it from his hand in order to try to make verses in 
the metre of the reader, the subject read furnishing me with 
words, as in a factory where one workman prepares the 
pieces for the next, and so for curiosity's sake I place it be- 
fore thee. The Poet, namely, was reading plaintive conver- 
sations between two lovers who could not come to an under- 
standing about their longing in spring-time and summer-time. 

Es waren nicht des Mayen wilde Bliithen, 

Violen suss und Rosen iiberall, 

In griiner Lind die freie Nachtigall, 

Die mich vor Sehnsuchts-Schmerzen sollen hiiten. 

Ich klage nicht die lichten Sommerzeiten, 
Den kiihlen Abend nach dem heissen Tag; — 
Der meiner Traume Sinn verstehen mag 
Der wolle ihnen Stoning nicht bereiten. 

Nicht dass sich bald das griine Laub will neigen, 

In dem der Voglein muntre Schaar sich wiegt, 

Dass Sonnenschein und Blumenglanz verfliegt, 

Macht dass mein Herz sich sehnt und meine Freuden schweigen, 

Der rauhe Winter nicht, der alle Lust bezwinget, 
Die lustigen Gauen uberdeckt mit Schnee, — 
Mir seufzt die Langeweil im Herzen Ach ! und Weh! 
Die mit dem Dichter stohnt und in den Veersen klinget. 



'Twas not the wild bloom of the birch in May, 
Violas sweet and roses in the vale, 
On the green lime the warbling nightingale, 
That soothingly my longings should allay. 

I do not at the summer-day repine 
When cooling eve usurps the noon's hot glow; — 
He who the meaning of my dreams may know, 
He will not mock them by a word unkind. 

Not that the wood's green leaves so soon must fall, 
In which the birds' melodious choir reigns; 
Not that the sunlight and the flowers must fade, 
Makes my heart yearn, and still my pleasures all. 



GUND ERODE. 



251 



'Tis not rough Winter who with icy bounds 
Checks merry life, and decks the meads with snow; — 
'Tis weariness that's sighing ''Ah ! " and "0 ! " 
Moans with the Poet, and in his verses sounds. 

MONDAY. 

Yesterday I received a letter from Clemens containing 
solemn exhortations not to throw away my life ; so tender, so 
sincere, as though I were a flower-bud growing upon his stem, 
to which all the sap and strength is carefully spent, that it 
may open ; but the bud is closed so firmly that neither rain 
nor sunshine will call it forth — what can I do ? 

Christian chastises me with words, saying there is no aspi- 
ration in me. and if I desire to travel in Italy I must study 
Winkelmann's History of Art," and learn Italian ; the last I 
have tried, but the History of Art, why shall I bother about 
that when I am to go to Italy ? Ei, let me see everything 
with my own eyes, and when I am drunk with rapture, that 
the trees, flowers, and fruits are different there, when a fairer 
sky arches over me, and people, boys, and youths, that are 
more nearly allied to me in the blood of indolence than our 
cold industrious German bread-students, meet me in the 
street, lightly saluting, turning to repeat it with ardor, — ei, 
will I then remember a word of Winkelmann, and the old 
History. When the beauty of Earth is surging around me, 
I'd be just the pedant to refer to it ! With thee I would 
like to lounge arm in arm, Giinderode. If thou comest not 
to-day, I await thee to-morrow, each moment will be de- 
liriously filled, why should we care what follows? Storm 
and showers write their imperishable Runes into the heart, 
as well as the cloudless day ; each path conducts to hidden 
beauties of Nature, why shall we not, when the heart calls, 
follow the fair forms, the glistening glory of the plains, rov- 
ing hither and thither upon them like lambs? Why seek 
the beautiful according to a plan ? In the end perhaps acci- 
dent is the most generous giver, why not yield to it? — does 
not God infuse his spirit most deeply through it into the soul, 
most readily gratifying its secret wishes ? 

I often imagine mvself wandering with thee out of the 
nearest gate, along the most charming path, but Clemens 
urges me to the foot of Parnassus, desiring me to mount, and 
so I wrote to him : " My conscience keeps me from com- 
posing, and when I consider how much deep, pure feeling 



252 



GUNDERODE. 



is required, I dare attempt it all the less ; sometimes indeed 
it comes over me, and I feel a longing for it, like a captive 
child for its play in the free air, on the green fields, and in 
the sunshine. I grieve that I cannot do as I desire, and thus 
the language in which I seek to hold my contemplations is 
burnt like a dry fagot by the fire of my heart. How often 
had I moments, whose solemn admonitions prepared me for 
something deep and earnest. Then Poesy seemed to me a 
developed butterfly, ready in the gentlest rain to burst its del- 
icate wrappings, and soaring in the air to revel among the 
manifold blossoms of my soul ; and I felt as though born for 
something divine and invisible. I was proud, and when Na- 
ture glowed upon me with her ardent eyes, I was shy and 
proof against her power, yet I would have yielded my heart 
to the first bold moment that dared unfetter the language in 
which my song could have flow T ed. But all this inner tre- 
mor and bubbling passed over without my retaining, or pro- 
ducing anything ; it will perhaps return to me a thousand-fold 
without leaving one trace behind it." 

I have copied this for thee from my letter to him, because 
it is something real, repeating itself in endless modulations 
in my mind. I have visions when I close my eyes, but I 
do not only see, I also hear enrapturing tones, as though 
intense feelings could become tones ; thus only the next step 
is wanting for tone to translate itself into words ; but over to 
this island it will not throw a bridge ; on the contrary, all 
manifestations dissolve before language. I have a dim idea 
why I cannot compose : it is, that the Profound, which is en- 
tirely to penetrate me, that with electric power it were to 
free Language, is something not legitimate in my world of 
feeling ; or, more quickly and directly to express myself, be- 
cause it is nonsense that surges in my soul, it is nonsense 
that my thoughts repeat again and again, because it is non- 
sense by which I am seized, foreshadowed as the highest law 
of Wisdom. Wherever I turn, wherever I enter, I find no 
response to my feelings ; I know that if poetic inspiration 
were to seize me, the infinite, the unborn, would open to let 
me pass. I see ! — and if I look upon a germ of truth, how- 
ever small, or folded into itself, I am inspired, even by the 
luminous path it unconsciously wanders. By thee I am in- 
spired, because thy simple emulation teaches me unerringly 
that thou art the sweet cadence by which my soul is rocked, 



GUXD ERODE. 



253 



and slumbering thou infusest the laws of harmony into it. 
Foreshadowings are said to become truths to the mind : shall 
a foreshadowing become realized, then the soul must unite 
with another soul, with Genius, — foreshadowings realize 
Genius within us. All things receive real life, by the con- 
secration of Love and Genius. Everything is realized by 
the nuptials of sublimer Light with the mind. It streams 
down upon the mind that need only lovingly desire it ; shape- 
less, it fills it in the dead of night, flowing about, and en- 
tirely surrounding it. Ah, Light is no tame lover. And is 
it to be wondered at, that he who abandons himself uncon- 
ditionally to it, will see where others do not see ? — Should I 
feel shame before thee, who appeared to me in many a sacred 
moment, when the Light was tenderly weaving its rays about 
thee, crowning thy head with double £lory, to say, that it is 
not Language standing between me and Light ; no, it is Light 
directly that receives my senses — and not my soul through 
Language ! — therefore I cannot compose. Composing is not 
near enough, it thinks too much of itself. 

Ah, but I am writing in the way to which we have agreed 
that thou wilt not reply, so that I may not be crazy before my 
time. Be silent, I will be silent too, else the demon might 
carry me off through the air. To Clemens I wrote that I am 
very happy here, not only on Savigny's account, whose pres- 
ence indeed lends a charm to every place, but on account of 
the seclusion, removed from all the trifling that beset me in 
Frankfort, I may say limiting my liberty. Here I can give 
myself up to carelessness, without being directly terrified by 
its inconsistency, and can be serious and quiet without any 
one considering me sick or in love. I am in love with Heav- 
en and Earth, both of which are lovely here, without being 
accused of coquetry. Here comes thy letter. . Thou gavest 
it to Claudine to finish, who kept it two days, for it took her 
so long to write, — and now I must close this one without its 
being an answer. I would answer it directly, but the effect 
of thy letter is too powerfully upon me yet. I do not think 
it could have been written at thy writing-table, but at a 
strange one, certainly at Claudine's. I must let the sun set, 
and collect myself for to-morrow morning. 



254 



GUNDERODE. 



Marburg, December. 

I jumped out of bed this morning to melt the ice with my 
breath. At half-past seven the students came laughing and 
clamoring up the hill. It was hardly light yet, and the 
mist so thick that they moved in it like shadows. Meline 
and I see them march to Professor Weiss's lecture every 
morning, to our greatest amusement. They cannot see us, 
for our windows are thickly frozen ; we get upon the table 
and breathe against the upper panes till we have a hole just 
large enough to look through with one eye. Each of them 
wears a different badge, and they lounge about for a quarter 
of an hour till they vanish in the entrance to the lecture- 
room, which Weiss opens at eight o'clock precisely. Mean- 
while they carry on all manner of sport, and we were already 
led to think the great leaps over one another's heads were 
executed in our honor ; but they cannot see us because the 
windows are curtained, besides being frozen ; yet our green 
curtains mysteriously strike their eyes, which affords us abun- 
dant amusement. 

A love-affair with the whole troop is fully under way. We 
have divided them amongst us. Meline says that one is 
mine, and I, this one is mine. Thus we have two regiments, 
and their scuffles are laughed over with great zest and tri- 
umph. Each party has a captain. The one with the red 
cap, which he never wears on his head, but swings on 
the end of a great stick, called by the students Ziegen- 
hainer, is mine. He is always first at hand, the others as- 
semble around him and listen to what he says. He is proba- 
bly the head of a Burschensckaft, so young and handsome 
and taller than all the rest. A cloud of breath comes from 
his mouth as often as he opens it, clinging as frost to his lit- 
tle beard, of which he feels very big, for he draws it through 
his fingers once a minute certainly. His hair is brown, but 
he has a fair sunny face that beams so cheerily through the 
morning-mist. Then, too, he wears a light coat. 

Meline's favorite is called the " Brown One." He is fair- 
haired, but wears a brown coat and a blue cap, with a tassel 
dangling about his nose. When the others wrestle or throw 
snowballs at each other, he sits quietly on the wall and draws 
his shining Phoebus-like curls through his fingers. I often 
begrudge him to Meline, and would be willing to exchange 



G-UXDEEODE. 



255 



a good-looking one from my regiment for him ; but she will 
take nothing less than my general, which I won't do. Morn- 
ings the yard is like Elysium ; the dense mist lighted by 
the early sun, with figures in every position moving through 
it. When the lecture is over, we see them come out in still 
greater glee. Ah, had I such a regiment, I'd answer the ab- 
surd accusations in thy letter about Napoleon. " Pray, and 
ve will be beard." I pray unceasingly that I may have 
wings. I would fly over his legions and seize his rein. Ah, 
Gunderode, thy unfortunate idea, as though I cherished a 
peculiar reverence for Xapoleon, torments me. He rides the 
raging steed of Presumption, leaping in wild ardor over 
abysses, flying in proud conceit through the plain, to dash 
across new ones. On he hurries past the Times that are so 
altered that they cease to recognize themselves/ Men sleep 
without a thought of awakening, but at the sound of his 
thundering hoof they tear open their eyes. Dazzled by his 
glorv. they forget what they are about ; drowsiness is changed 
to intoxication, and they rush around him exultinglv. 

Things go strangely within me. Before people I return 
into myself ; before them I never feel myself. Only at 
night, when I awake from my first sleep, separated from 
everything, ponderous queries place themselves before my 
thoughts. They are questions put to my conscience, before 
which I grow mute. Virtues ! what are they? If I think 
back of the last days at grandmamma's among the Emi- 
grants, everything in confusion, as though the unhappy death 
of Enghien had occurred before the very door. What tears 
did old Choiseil weep with Ducailas and Maupart ; how they 
wrung their hands, crying to God to witness this pitiable 
death. Thinks! thou not that this made a far deeper im- 
pression on me than the greatest sweep of glory in the world? 
Dost thou think I could ever desert the sufferers of wrong to 
side with the wrong that is sanctioned by the world ? I 
feel there is greater freedom in bearing the chains with the 
oppressed, dying, despised, than in sharing the fate of the 
oppressor. What is the talent to me that marks its course 
by broken truces and a-sassination ? Would I myself fly 
through such a career? Yes, truly! I would build high 
that no one could approach me except he had wings ; but 
not like a bird of prey that tears the Goddess of Fortune to 
glut upon hej' and then leave her like carrion, but by sacred 



256 



GUND ERODE. 



peace, not by treason against it ; by protection of the confid- 
ing, and not by their murder ; by the free, sacred, incontesta- 
ble clarion tones of Truth, and not by strangling their utter- 
ance. Thy jest made me angry. I wanted to write myself 
into quiet, but I must glow through and through. He ! an 
inconceivable conceit without shame or feeling, about whom 
frogs, crowned and uncrowned, are hopping, who is pulled 
hither and thither by his weaknesses, denying his descent and 
quarrelling about a few stars in his escutcheon, creating 
frenzy among all the French, poisoning, throttling, shooting, 
tearing asunder the family-ties of his own brothers. Him, 
whom the intoxicated people uphold because his iniquities 
succeed, of him thou sayst to me, " Thou art attracted by 
these doings, and thy excited feelings run away with thee." 
It is all said in jest, but I am pained by it, and the jest 
comes not from thee. Thy jests are like the spray spattered 
from dewy branches, or like the frolicsome morning-breeze ; 
but they never hiss at me with brands of reproach. Thou 
canst trust my prophetic gift so far as to believe that the fore- 
boding sleeps in my soul, that the more this straw-fed flame 
spreads, the sooner it will flicker and die in the ashes. Thou 
reproachest me for plaguing myself so long with Ostertag's 
bad translation, in order to study the characters of the great 
Emperors. I certainly did study the twelve Emperors with 
deep interest, only to find what I might have known before, 
that all tyrants are mean, cunning natures, who commanded 
where a request would have sufficed. The progress of their 
power developing from the vanity of the people, everywhere 
met by the servile love of court-pomp and the frenzy to sell 
their souls to this idol, till everything turned to folly, empty- 
ing itself into the great flood of pride. This is what I 
learned from my study of the twelve Emperors ; not to seek 
comparisons for his greatness, but to see if all tyrants were 
not as abhorrent as he, — if they have not all poisoned a 
Toussaint l'Ouverture, throttled a Pichegru, or shot an En- 
ghien, and if they did not all make a halter of etiquette to 
throw over the heads of their nearest friends. Could any of 
them bear one breath of freedom about them ; and did those 
slaves bear their yoke for any other reason than to oppress 
those beneath them ? See, to the least trait it is always the 
same selfish, unjust hypocrite, the same monster of medioc- 
rity, without an impulse of the true spirit, no longing to set 



GUNDERODE. 



257 



up wisdom as the aegis of his actions, no knowledge of the 
fertile soil of arts and sciences, nor an idea how man de- 
velops his mind ; without self-esteem or inner discipline, ut- 
tering rude sarcasms, and every one cries, " He has a lucky 
star ! " It cannot shine forever, and with its light every- 
thing will die away. 

Don't write so harshly, else thou wilt receive harsh an- 
swers. I am vexed at every word I must write, because it 
seems like carrying on a lawsuit with thy common sense, put- 
ting forward newspaper wit and emigrant politics to main- 
tain my right against thee. 

There is a new moon to-night, and I must climb my old 
tower to see how it lights up the charmed, silent earth with 
its silvery rays. Meline is sound asleep, and I shall get out 
of the bedroom window on to the hill. To-day there was a 
dinner-party at Savigny's, and the Professor told of a band 
of thieves who had committed several robberies in the neigh- 
borhood ; who knows but what they are hidden in the tower. 
I am afraid ; but because I am, I must go up. Men are afraid 
of immortality too. 

SUNDAY. 

I was up there yesterday ; had great fear, in mounting, at 
nothing ; found the breeze of liberty freshly blowing. Silence, 
all compassing — all wrapt in slumber round about. The 
stars were beckoning Peace and Freedom ! so solitary, so 
secure. Thus must one feel who has shaken off life. On 
my way I was terrified by a crooked branch and a cabbage 
stalk. I knew it was nothing ; yet I was afraid. So, too, 
knows the inner man that all fear is naught, yet must he com- 
bat Imagination to gain Truth, which cannot be terrible be- 
cause it is living and free, and that which is living and free 
alone can influence, not the fettered mind that fears because 
it does not understand. Knowledge neutralizes every an- 
tagonistic power. I will tell thee how it seems to die. I 
learnt it on my old tower. I climbed up, tremulous with fear, 
the inner voice of Truth helping me subdue my imagination 
that beset me with apparitions. Several times I hesitated 
between heaven and earth on the rotten ladder ; but the air 
from above touched me already, and suddenly I ascended, 
freedom breathing around me ; just so it is in death. The 
more light life has conquered, the more spiritualized it has 
17 



258 



GUNDERODE. 



become, the more it avoids the spiritual, and at the close of 
life imagination sways it, limiting the radiance of the living, 
of Truth. Man is a slave to his imagination ; it denies his 
inner self, but Divine Truth shines down into his dark, ruinous 
tower, and with double daring he now mounts the dilapidated 
ladder that leads him to freedom ; and after this ascent to the 
heights of liberty, it can no longer endure in the dark tower, 
for that was imagination. One could perhaps take lightly 
what I say about dying, because it seems simple and fabu- 
lous, and perhaps has been said before. Indeed it was nothing 
new to me either, but derives its value from being an expe- 
rience not understood by the senses alone. The starry heav- 
ens taught it me, and I was very happy over my lesson in 
dying, and mean to learn more up there. 

TUESDAY. 

To-day I have something merry to tell thee. The students 
had theatricals, and we went to see them under the protection 
of a strong escort. The play was an invention of the students 
themselves, and three duels occurred in it, with pistols, ra- 
piers, and swords. When the shooting began, Meline grew 
faint ; at the thrusts, everything turned blue and green before 
our eyes ; but when they began with swords, the confusion be- 
came general. A great hubbub ensued ; some leaped over 
the orchestra upon the stage, upsetting the oil-lamps and put- 
ting out part of them, and from the prevailing twilight impen- 
etrable darkness was born. Our escort placed us upon benches, 
keeping us in their midst to guard against every mishap until 
we could dare escape from this confusion and lamp-smoke to 
breathe the fresh air of the street once more. The confusion 
began by the Beadle's telling the Rector, who had a seat of 
honor in the middle of the hall, that the duel with the swords 
was to be in earnest, declaring that he had overheard its ar- 
rangement ; and they showed indeed a threatening aspect in 
their student's armor. The Rector held it his duty directly 
to discountenance this bold attempt. He opened a path 
through the orchestra, dashed by the bass-viol, that gave out 
a plaintive wail as he overturned it in his zeal, rousing the 
whole assembly. The Dean and other high University dig- 
nitaries rushed after their Rector regardless of obstacles, 
eliciting many more involuntary tones from the forsaken in- 
struments. There was much loud talking back and forth 



GUXDERODE. 



259 



among the ladies, who, anxious as they were to prevent the 
catastrophe, did not cease to turn their eyes towards the scene 
of action, and laughter among the students who enjoyed the 
confusion ; but the scene on the stage surpassed the rest in in- 
terest. The Eector and his volunteers solemnly facing us ; 
a student, representing a lady in a long train, part of which 
had been demolished in the rapier-duel, now, probably from 
a spirit of waggery, turned his back to the audience, when 
through the breach in his robe a pair of high horseman's boots 
and his sword became visible, upholding the remaining frag- 
ment of the train, and over all a long lace veil streamed down 
his back, threatening at every movement of its wearer to ex- 
tinguish the remaining lamps or take fire itself, so that several 
voices loudly called, " The veil is burning, the veil is burning ! " 
The whole disturbance was soon discovered to have been a 
false alarm ; but the play could not go on, as the lamps were 
out and the elite gone, besides a mass of people from the 
street having taken possession of the vacant benches to see 
what was going on. The next day we heard from Professor 
Weiss the issue of this tragi-comedy. It remained doubtful, 
he said, whether the affair had been seriously intended or 
not. The students denied it ; but the Beadle took an oath on 
having overheard their conference in the passage. The stu- 
dent representing the lady was to have been one second, and 
my faithful captain the other. He further testified to hav- 
ing seen them measure their blades before the door, and hear- 
ing how many passes were to be made, and witnessing the 
inspection of their stocks, visors, and gauntlets. The stu- 
dents insisted that they were only rehearsing their parts pre- 
vious to representing them on the stage, so nothing remained 
but to let them go. The Rector took their word to keep the 
peace, after which they held a convivium, keeping up their 
merriment to a late hour. The progress of the play had not 
yet thrown much light upon the development of the plot, and 
their object was in some way to replace the required issue. 
Therefore, in the ignored presence of the Beadle, whom they 
knew to be hidden behind a chest, they made him a witness 
to their whole proceeding, having dropt hints in his presence 
before to rouse his mistrust. In this way the whole audience 
assisted, highly delighted with the evening's entertainment, 
and no doubt young and old will have enough to tell about 
the droll things that occurred, for some time to come. 



260 



GUND ERODE. 



Professor Weiss was enchanted with his dear students, 
and says one must have been a student one's self in order to 
understand the enjoyment of such a success. He stayed with 
us, and we permitted him to smoke his pipe while he told us 
about the mad pranks of his college-days, whiling away the 
time very agreeably. This morning, when the students came 
to their lecture, we could plainly see how delighted they were, 
for laughter remained the order of the day. We two, be- 
hind the frozen windows like protecting deities, rejoiced in 
the mirth of our favorites. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

If you are serious, you certainly are right too, and I will 
not repeat that I was but jesting ; it would be doubly sinful, 
as jests are not seemly between us. You can least endure to 
have me touch a false chord. It was a worldly jest, not airy 
and light, besides being a pretext. I had become confused 
by my journeys back and forth between the Rhine and the 
Neckar, then home to the old household. Much has glided 
into time that was both joyful and sad. This winter brought 
me twofold experiences. 

Clemens has written to me, and many bitter and sad rec- 
ollections of him passed before me like a dream. His letter 
grieved me, because it foreshadowed distinctly, and again dim- 
ly, his confused and troubled soul. Even if I had never seen 
him, this cold indifference to life would affect me painfully. 

He places himself beyond the limits of youth as though he 
had been rejected by it. How much this grieves me ! why 
need he do so, instead of recalling the past, living on in that, 
ever fresh, young, and dreamy, as well he could. He must 
return to this, and it is for thee to write to him affectionately. 
He is pained and grieved at thy greater freedom, where for- 
merly thy sole dependence seemed on him. Thou canst not al- 
ter, but must replace it to him, and as thy letters are always 
short, let them be frequent. I am rejoiced at his approbation 
of my poems. None other would please me so much. He 
writes that Savigny has heard of a translation of " Tian," 
which has been made in Paris. Write to him about it, and 
let me hear more. 

I let Molitor read thy views on education. He was pleased 
with them, and promises not to disturb thee again, of which I 
am glad, even if thy arguments intended to overpower Phil- 



GUND ERODE. 



261 



istinism have no basis, and are evidently hurled at random. 
I had rather read what arises from thy direct contact with 
the elements than when thy mind is centred in opposition on 
any given established subject. Thy truths indeed passingly 
reach the understanding of men; they would gladly admit 
thee to be right, but what of it ? Until the dawn of poesy 
awakens the soul in every bosom, much will be understood 
that will as quickly fall into oblivion. Therefore I had rather 
thou wouldst create thyself, be teacher and scholar at the 
same time. It will bear better fruits, and thy own teachings 
penetrate thee more thoroughly and deeply. How thou didst 
resist the philosophy which thy own nature so individually 
expresses, in spirit, soul, and body. By this I do not wish 
to lead thee back upon thyself ; it is merely a remark I make 
before the mirror, from which thou canst immediately take 
wing and fly ; but thou wilt see that I agree with thee, for 
if thy organic nature is philosophy, thou wilt not of course 
have to acquire it. It will take a youthful form, meeting 
another spring and another understanding in the spiritual 
world ; the more mistaken it seems for thee to put thyself 
in contact with realities and adapt thy mind to them. I seek 
to see myself collectedly centred in poesy as in a mirror, and 
my poems are essays to attain beyond myself to higher 
spheres. It seems to me that the phenomena of greatness 
among men all point to the same end. With such I would 
come* in contact, enter into communion with them, in their 
midst, under their influence to follow the same course, ever 
progressing, with a feeling of self-elevation, with the aim to 
simplify, constantly gaining deeper insight into and knowledge 
of the practice of this art. And as the sublime works of 
Greek art were received as the results of divine inspiration, 
reflecting back upon the people as such, the great masters 
also producing them in this sense by the entire concentration 
of their mental powers ; thus actively my mind and feel- 
ing awaken to their origin, their ideal, and seek to elevate 
themselves to it. For thee, a child born in the land where 
milk and honey flow, care were superfluous, the grapes hang- 
ing temptingly before thy lips, soil and climate favoring thy 
infancy. All combine to cherish, nourish, and protect thee 
as long as thou dost not change the climate, and to begin, 
it is of no consequence if thy early fruits are not palatable 
to the world, if only no wrong in thee disturb thy own 



262 



(HJNDERODE. 



growth, for that would truly be a sin. Pass with people for 
what they please ; be silent in regard to thyself. Promise 
me this sacredly, else they will transplant thee from thy na- 
tive land, lift thee out of thy childhood to make something of 
thee. How sorrowful it would be, if thou wert estranged by 
thy own fault from thy inner life, thy religion, that ministers 
so gently and happily to thee. Oh, no ; I will not fear it. 
Remain ever leagued with thy spirits that bring thee food, 
and reject it not for strange fare. I have often suffered re- 
proaches on thy account. How could I have defended my- 
self? It would have been treachery to unveil thee before 
their eyes. And what art thou ? Nothing but the mani- 
fold expression of Nature, like that chrysalis thou broughtest 
from Schlangenbad this summer, so firm outside that nothing 
could injure it, opening at the slightest touch of the butterfly 
to let it forth, then closing again. If Nature so peculiarly 
provides to guard against every interruption in the develop- 
ment of its organic beings, even carefully closing the cham- 
ber from which it has dismissed its winged things, how deeply 
the instinct not to give up to strange powers must be im- 
planted in these living beings. As thou hast a manifold un- 
derstanding of Nature, thou wilt also comprehend me now. 
No more and no better I hold thee than anything that lives in 
Nature, for all that lives has equal claims on the Divine ; but 
it is thy care that thy life in Nature develop unmolested. 

Thy little poem, made to pass the time, proves that we are 
both right ; for every one else I would count it a poem, but 
not for thee, because thou expressest an outward situation, 
not an inner one ; and I think the true significance of a 
poem consists in making our inmost being apparent in a liv- 
ing form. The more purely and decidedly this inner life 
expresses itself, the deeper will be the impression and power 
of the poem. Everything depends upon power. It over- 
throws criticism, and maintains its own. What if it be so 
constructed as not to violate the accepted standard of art ? 
Power creates higher laws, that before no one was aware of 
or ventured to express. Higher laws always displace the 
old ones, and we do not yet find an end. If the arena where 
our faculties are now trained according to established princi- 
ples were but given up at large to facilitate Nature in follow- 
ing her own laws ! I do not wish thee, however, to apply to 
my own poetical products what I say here, for I have learnt 



GUXDERODE. 



263 



to obey by strict discipline, and it was well, because I col- 
lected material in my mind, which in itself perhaps would not 
have satisfied me had the form by which I sought to entwine 
a charm not lent it additional worth. I believe that nothing 
in poesy is so essential as for its germ to spring from within 
us. A spark bursting from the nature of the spirit i- in- 
spiration, come from whatever depth of the feelings it will, 
and insignificant as it may seem. The most important in 
poesy as well as in speech certainly is the true and direct 
sensation then uppermost in the soul, because if the soul feels 
clearly and simply, and we were to heighten these sensations, 
the spiritual effect of them would be lost. The greatest mas- 
ter of poesy certainly is he who requires the simplest forms 
to express his inner conceptions, and in whom form is born 
from a feeling of inner accordance. 

But as I said before, don't apply any of my words to me, 
or thou canst easily fall into error, although this very under- 
standing has come to me from within. I was often obliged to 
acknowledge the scantiness of the pictures conceived in my 
poetic moods, and often thought that close beside me more 
luxuriant forms and finer robes lay ready, or that more im- 
posing material was at hand, but as they did not originate as 
the first mood of my soul, I always rejected them, holding 
to that which really deviated least from my real emotions ; 
thus it was that I ventured to have them printed, their value 
for me consisting in the genuine impress of truth they bore, 
and in this sense all fragments are poems to me. Thou 
hast probably also experienced this simple phenomenon id 
thyself, of tragic moments moving thy soul, that snatch their 
images from history, and that in this picture circumstances 
so combine as to carry thee through the deepest grief or sub- 
limest elevation. Thou strugglest against wrong victoriously, 
thou art happy, everything favors thee, and thou become&l 
capable of developing great powers, and finally succeeding 
in expanding thy soul over all; or else a hard fate of suffer- 
ing opposes thee, becomes embittered and violates the -mu - 
tuary of thy bosom, thy faith, thy love. Then the Genius 
takes thee by the hand, leading thee from the land where 
thy high moral dignity was endangered, and at his call and 
under his protection soaring upwards where thou hopes! i<> 
escape from sorrow, or to where the spirit of sacrifice prompts 
thee. Through imagination the mind experiences these 



264 



GTJNDERODE. 



changes as fate, it tests itself in them, and truly we often 
make the experiences of a hero through them, feeling our- 
selves penetrated by the sublime that sensuously we would 
be too weak to endure ; but imagination is the spot where the 
seed was planted and took root, — who can say how or when 
a mighty and pure power will blossom from it ? How else 
is the hero formed in us ? There are no secret workshops in 
the spirit unemployed, and however a power may show itself, 
its inner calling is the most important. Therefore I feel a 
sort of consolation at the insignificance of my poems, because 
they are the footprints of my soul, which I do not deny. 
Even if any one were to object that I might have waited till 
riper and finer fruits were collected, it is yet my conscience 
that induced me to deny nothing, for if ever a pure and 
pleasing image developed itself, it belongs there too, and 
it was everything experienced in this way that led me to 
this standpoint of firm resolve. I have now told thee enough, 
and have done it for thy love's sake, as thou hast often said 
and done, much for me ; besides thou hast a large share in 
all this, as well thou mayst have. I beg thee urgently, do not 
let it affect thy mood, but be careful to remain entirely thyself. 
Thy manuscript has been forwarded to the Primate. 

CAROLINE. 

What hast thou written to Voigt about a Polish Jew ? 

TO GUNDERODE. 

The weather has changed, and the green hill-side laughs 
at the bit of snow that pretends to be winter ; I do not enter 
the house all day long. Evenings the sun and moon walk 
together in the sky, and yesterday I mounted my tower 
earlier, to see why they did not come ; I looked up into the 
soft, warm air, and over the changed landscape, for the snow 
had melted overnight, and in the sweet caresses of Nature 
I could not remember how it looked before ; the pines and 
meadows freed from their weight of snow must feel so too. 
The yellow willow T s and birches reel in the soft wind, hoping 
and longing that spring may overcome winter ; they are 
playfully bantered by spring-dreams in their winter-sleep, 
and I too ; — can all ecstasy here be a dream of the future ? 
it is so fleeting, so accidental. Spring-time is ecstasy, because 
it is inspiration for the future ; ecstasy is inspiration to live, 



GUXDERODE. 



265 



that is always spring. He, who is always inspired to live, 
enjoys a constant spring, and life is only inspiration, else it 
were death. Thus to-day, and ever, life is a bud swaying in 
the wind, which is time ; sensuously budding, which is Na- 
ture ; showering bud-fragrance from the spirit, which is the 
sun. All life is only inspiration for the future, not one mo- 
ment could issue from the other were it not the inspiration of 
Nature for life. Time would cease, were Nature no more 
spring-inspired, as by its constant striving towards the future 
it receives life ; the constant return of spring is its soul, its 
word born into the flesh. She opens her lips and draws 
long breaths of the future, which is spring that bursts forth 
again in blossoms ; — it is the breathing out of its inspiration, 
fruit of the blossom, confirming the inspiration of the breaths 
she drew ; it is summer, when the bosom of Nature filled 
with vital breath, that it breathes out in its fruits till they 
ripen over into autumn. Now, winter makes the quick life 
pause in her bosom, for a moment she does not stir, just as 
the heaving of the bosom ceases between the coming and SO- 
ing breath ; then her bosom heaves again mightier and 
mightier, inhaling life-inspirations with its holy breathings. 
Thus, life is nothing but spring-inspired breathing, summer 
and autumn the exhalations of this inspiration ; winter is only 
a cessation of spring, in which all the faculties are preparing 
for new breathings. No one is old, excepting he who looks 
upon time as existing. Time does not exist — time flies. 
Inspiration cannot cling to the fleeting — it clings to nothing 

— it must be free, existing in itself, else it were no life. Na- 
ture then draws breaths of inspiration, which is spring, breath- 
ing them forth as summer and autumn, when she gives every- 
thing away, to inhale a new spring. So it is plain that the 
spirit only breathes spring-breath ; and youth does not limit 
itself to time which passes away, for love of life cannot dimin- 
ish as long as Nature breathes spring, so long we breathe 
life-inspirations. 

What I say here is stupid ; is it not the unveiled spirit that 
breaks our illusions, but beneath the poor covering of a 
twenty times repeated simile lies the germ of an annihilating 
answer to what thou hast told me more than once : u Know 
a great deal, learn a great deal, but only not outlive youth, 

— and die early! " Ah, Gunderode ! breathe out thy breath, 
to draw it anew, to drink inspiration ; for is Nature not the 



266 



GUNDERODE. 



life of this inspiration ? and were youth anything if it were 
not eternal ? As I sat up in my old tower yesterday, and 
saw how Nature awaited spring in dreamy anticipation, it 
occurred to me that youth has an eternal claim on life, and 
he who gives it up breathes no more. I do not know what 
thou callest youth ; is it not youthful to sacrifice the body to 
the spirit ? — does it not strive with all its powers to become 
spiritualized ? What then is time ? Nothing but perpetual 
youth. We must always desire to live, because when it is 
time to die, youth just feels itself ripe for immortality. But 
how can he who dies in early youth become immortal ? He 
who thinks : I will not live beyond the years that count with 
twenty, for at thirty, sentence of death is pronounced over 
youth, is one who has time to think so, and might as well 
stand as idle freight for Charon's boat. But to me it seems 
that thy spirit, like Nature inhaling blossoms, will not shrink 
from the future. No ! The longing soul forms germs of 
spring, and love of life is love for these germs ; the soul's 
eagerness to live is like the impulse in Nature that sends 
forth bud on bud. A melancholy life can only be there 
where the soul is inactive, and, unlike Nature, loses the im- 
pulse to nourish its germs with its hot blood ; it would be 
giving up youth. All life is but one breath of spring, and 
we must draw it, if we live twenty, thirty, or a hundred 
years, struggling to perfect life with all our power, in fullest, 
richest bloom, to scatter fragrance on the wings of the wind. 
How canst thou grieve about thy youth ? — who will not live 
for it, is dead in spirit. What dost thou think within thyself, to 
what feelings incline but those leading to the goal ? To em- 
brace the ideal that thou knowest in thy breast ; thou long- 
est to meet it ; all thou dost is to attain it through childhood, 
youth, through thy whole life ; how then can we say that 
youth ends on earth ? Youth does not burst into full blossom 
until the close of life. Hast thou observed in many plants 
that the calyx enclosing the bud must fade before that can 
blossom? — should we on account of the young vigor of the 
covering, that protects the hidden bud, break out the germ, so 
that fools may not say youth has faded ? Our earthly life is 
but the protecting mother- warmth, calyx to the spirit-blossom; 
we will not rob it of that, but leave it hidden in its wrappings 
till they decay. The secret life-impulses thou has given me, 
and which without thee I never would have had — let them in- 



GUXDERODE. 



267 



crease a thousand-fold! Thou lovest ! — otherwise I cannot 
express thy being — is that anything but the prime of youth ? 
Well then, if the character of thy soul is youth, why dost thou 
grieve about growing old ? — What do I do ? I live by the 
warmth that nourishes and protects the life-germ of thy soul, 
and all that lives within me now would never have stirred, 
had it not been touched by thy vital flame ; indeed I am but 
a bough on the blossoming stem of thy eternal youth, also 
receiving nourishment from earthly life. 

Earthly life is the cherishing mother of our spiritual youth, 
it may guard us, as the bulb does the germ of the Narcissus, 
until it sees its own ideal reflected in a mirror. 

WEDNESDAY. 

I was merry yesterday, but on coming from my tower, I 
found a letter from Claudine about thee, prompting the seri- 
ous mood in which I wrote. When it is dark we can fancy 
all sorts of things, because we have the opportunity of playing 
with shadows ; even if we do not fear the grotesque shapes, 
yet we dislike the caricatured resemblance, and least of all we 
can endure that which we do not believe ; look upon my let- 
ter in this light ; I never liked thy sayings about living and 
dying, although I knew them to be only shadows, playing on 
the walls of thy soul, as though its light were displaced. Do 
not think unkindly, and let me not suffer if I have meddled 
with thy dreams, that perhaps were golden in the morning- 
radiance of their youth, while I tried to dispel dark storm- 
clouds that seemed to me to overcast thy evening sky, when 
Claudine wrote me of thy sadness. It is quite natural that 
they who only see thy exterior, cannot make a correct state- 
ment of thy inmost feelings, which I begin to believe are en- 
throned beyond clouds, that do indeed cast their shadows 
upon the earth, but thou, borne on them, art revelling in 
light celestial. 

I here enclose the sheet, written before Claudine's letter 
came on Monday, when it was so spring-like that I had lost 
my faith in winter. 

ON MONDAY. 

By the poetical reading of Saturday I am impressed with 
its rhythm like the cylinder of a music-box, so that my lan- 
guage even partakes of it ; thus can strange influences subdue 



268 



GUNDERODE. 



mind. Weiss insists that I bade him u good-night " yester- 
day in hexameters. Do not wonder therefore if I give this 
goblin the reins, and dance before thee in presumptuous 
rhythm, to the rare beauty of a spring-dreaming winter's 
nigh t. 

Eilt die Sonne nieder zu dem Abend, 
Loscht das kiihle Blau in Purpurgluthen ; 
Dammerungsruhe trinken alle Wipfel. 

Jauchzt die Fluth hernieder silberschaumend, 
Wallt gelassen nach verbrauster Jugend, 
Wiegt der Sterne Bild ira Wogenspiegel. 

Hangt der Adler ruhend hoch in Liiften, 
Unbeweglich wie im tiefen Schlumraer; 
Eegt kein Zweig sich, schweigen alle Winde. 

Lachelnd, miihelos, in Gotterrythmen, 

Wie den Nebel Himmelsglanz durchschreitet, 

Schreitet Helios schwebend iiber Fluren. 

Feucht VOm Zauberthau der heil'gen Lippen, 
Stromt sein Lied den Geist von alien Geistern, 
Stromt die Kraft von alien Kraften nieder 

In der Zeiten Schicksalsmelodieen ; 
Die harmonisch in einander spielen 
Wie in Blumen hell und dunkle Farben ; 

Und verjiingter Weisheit frische Gipfel 
Hebt er aus dem Chaos alter Liigen 
Aufwarts zu dem Geist der Ideale; 

Wiegt dann sanft die Blumen an dem Ufer, 
Die sein Lied von siissem Schlummer weckte, 
Wieder durch ein susses Lied in Schlummer. 

Hatt' ich nicht gesehen und gestaunet, 
Hatt' ich nicht dem Gottlichen gelauschet 
Und ich sah den heil'gen Glanz der Blumen, — 

Sah des friihen Morgens Lebensfiille 
Die Natur wie neu geboren athmet, 
Wiisst ich doch es ist kein Traum gewesen. 



Ever downward hies the sun at evening, 
Tranquil blue is quenched in purple lustre, 
All the heights are bathed in purple twilight. 

Downward roars the flood in silvery gushes, 
Spent its haughty youth, it rolls in silence, 
Kocks the stars upon its heaving bosom. 



GTJNDERODE. 



269 



Soars the eagle, floating in the ether, 
Motionless as if in deepest slumber; 
Not a bough stirs, all the winds are silenced. 

Smiling, effortless, in godlike rhythm, 

As when sunset strideth through the vapors, 

Helios cometh, striding o'er the landscape. 

Moist with magic dew of lips so holy, 
Pours his song up to the Spirit of Spirits, 
Pours the power of all powers downwards 

Into Time's loud song of Destiny, 
Blending melodiously with one another 
As in flowers light and shade are blended; 

And new buds of fresh and youthful Wisdom 
Draws he from the Chaos of old falsehoods 
Upward to the Spirit of Ideals ; 

Soft he rocks upon the shore those flowers 
That from quiet sleep his song awakened 
By the same sweet song in tranquil slumbers. 

Had I ne'er gazed forth in still amazement, 
Never to the godlike tones had listened, 
Could I see the holy light of flowers, — 

See full life drawn up at early morning, 
And behold all new-born Nature breathing, 
Then I'd know that I had not been dreaming. 

Dost thou remember that evening in early spring, when 
Arniin read his poems to us on the Trages ? I recalled it in 
this sultry, bud-swelling weather, and the rhythm of that 
reading, which as I have said haunts me still, seemed to ex- 
press in great luxuriance what now looks so scant upon 
paper ; I did not mean to write it to thee either, but what else 
should I do with it ? My letters to thee are like the bed of 
a spring, everything in me gathers there. 

The pains 1 take to collect songs for the " "Wunderhorn," 
brings me in contact with singular people, who amuse me like 
a pleasant pastoral. I need persuasive arts to induce a 
peasant-girl to sing her songs, and then they generally begin 
with abridged opera-airs, so that I have as yet been able 
to gather but very few grains from all this chaff, which for 
want of innocence, and abundance of ignorance, they neglect, 
or forget, and which in the end I can only bring to light piece- 
meal ; I do it to please Arnim and Clemens. 

Lately, a sweet pretty girl was sent me by Pastor Bang, 



270 



GUMDERODE. 



because she knew a great many beautiful songs. The whole 
family belongs to that musical race who maintain themselves 
by collecting herbs for the pharmaceutists in the vicinity, and 
in summer by selling strawberries and whortleberries. The 
child stayed with me two days, and slept in the anteroom. 

You cannot think what a lovely child it was, in personal 
beauty too. I took her to walk with me, and she showed 
me new paths I had never been before. I proposed to go 
straight ahead, regardless of everything that came in our 
way. So up and down hill we went till we came to the aque- 
duct by the lake in the woods, and in a spirit of extravagant 
mirthfulness I went backwards till I was at last surprised to 
find myself in a swamp. 

What pleases me most is the knowledge of roots and 
herbs the child has, without ever having studied it. A tradi- 
tional botany, so complete and furnished with so many histor- 
ical comments leading to comparisons, that in this way a good 
deal of divine philosophy comes to the illiterate peasant. I 
dug up many roots, and the child told the name of every one, 
and each dry pod containing a seed the dear child knew. 

She spied a little chelidonium that had wintered in the 
crevice of a rock, where the flower had bloomed and faded 
unmolested, and the skeleton was as beautiful as the flower 
never is. The plant in its simplicity has no greater pretensions 
than other wood- and field-flowers, but its delicate skeleton 
is like a Gothic work of art. The little point that grows 
out of the corolla divides at the base into five little fingers, 
each of them holding to the sun a tiny, covered cup, contain- 
ing a seed, beautifully formed and cut like a jewel. When 
the sun shines upon them, these little seeds take daring 
leaps on all sides, and are thus planted around the mother- 
stem. A little earth, a bit of decayed moss, nourishes them, 
so that in the following year they blossom, a family-group. 
Indeed I love Nature ; even if in future I am to be trodden 
under foot by the wanderer, like a chelidonium, the least of 
all flowers, I will yet yield to her as long as she pours her 
artistic spirit over me ; would she but give to my unassum- 
ing flower a sceptre from which to scatter jewels around, to 
give new life, then catching the dews from heaven in the 
empty cups. In this way I think the sceptre of the Generous 
must touch the earth. 

In all the changes of Nature the wisdom of Solomon seems 



GUNDERODE. 



271 



to be graven in spiritual characters, which, large and small, 
fill the soul with awe as they call, " Lift thy pinions like a 
bird high above the earth's dross, and fly upwards as high as 
thou canst. The bird flies with its body, but thou canst fly 
with thy soul. Pinions were not given to thy body, so that 
thou mightest learn to soar with thy soul." Knowest thou 
how often we tried to find why a longing to fly was caused 
by the sight of every bird ? Had we wings like birds, this 
longing would not awake that now makes us think, thereby 
fledging the soul that once shall fly, for all thought is to the 
soul what budding and growing is in Nature. 

Now thou wilt understand why in my botanical baptism 
the chelidonium is called the sceptre-flower. My botanical 
compendium has already increased to the seventeenth plant. 
I have closely observed and designated all as my contempla- 
tion of them suggested. Sometimes it is the leaf, sometimes 
the corolla, or the root, that solve a riddle for me, or give me 
one to solve. 

I bring my specimens to old Weiss, who must press and 
arrange them neatly for me. At first he thought I was jok- 
ing when I read my new botany to him, but when I seriously 
maintained that I could write a botany as well as others, I 
secretly observed how he did not want to disturb my childish 
innocence, and submitted. He was particularly pleased with 
the history of the buttercup, that expands its seeds in the 
form of a star. I gave him to understand that possibly the 
stars themselves were connected by a delicate shaft with the 
Godhead, and that sometimes, when it is ripe, it darts away 
to blossom in new soil, and that all heavenly bodies might be 
ripening seeds. Weiss says, " Extravagant similes ; but 
they push my old scull-cap from my ear, breathing fresh air 
over me." Thus I bring many things to light to please my 
old neighbor, that I would not otherwise have thought of, and 
how kind it is of him to lend himself so obligingly to what 
he calls follies. Sometimes he exclaims, " That goes even 
beyond the impossible." 

With the strawberry-girl I spent another afternoon in the 
woods, where we made a fire, staying till the sun set in a 
burning glow; and as we went home through the solitary 
fields, I discovered some beautiful songs, of which she proba- 
bly has many more hidden in her head. Melodies thai are 
magnetically connected with the words, infusing their spirit 
into one. 



272 



GUNDEKODE. 



To-day I shall receive a letter from thee, for Claudine wrote 
that she found thee writing the second sheet. I know that 
if I send my letter away, the man will return with one from 
thee. I am so glad, and will meanwhile run to the old 
tower to romp away my joyful impatience with the goblins. 

BETTINE. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

I have a great love for the stars, and believe all instruc- 
tive thoughts that come to my soul are sent me by them. I 
would not miss going to my tower a single night ; it would 
seem like breaking a vow I made them to keep them wait- 
ing for me in vain. What men have ever wanted to teach me, 
I would not believe ; but what enters my thoughts up there in 
nightly solitude I must believe. Shall I not listen to the voice, 
speaking to me down from heaven ? Do I not feel its breath 
streaming upon me from all sides ? That is because I con- 
fide wholly to them in the lonely night. I climb a path that 
terrifies me, in order to be with them. I come to the tower, 
and my heart trembles within me as I anxiously mount, and 
not till I reach the topmost round, where I must rest my 
hand to raise myself up, do I feel relieved. There, all the 
stars shine down upon me, and whom I love I commit to 
their care — thee first of all. If I were cheated out of thee, 
it were all over with them. I write thy name in the snow 
that still lies on the tower, that they may guard thee, which 
they will certainly do ; then I sit down on the battlements 
and commune with them, not sadly, not joyfully. Dost 
think I'm in a solemn mood there ? Ho ! they banter me : 
" Hast thou the heart to run round on the edge of the nar- 
row battlements, believing that we will not let thee fall ? " 
Thus they ask, and I think I could reach them with my 
hands, so near they seem. For if at their beck I place my 
life into their hands, I must become familiar with them. I 
know very well what people would say if they knew these 
things ; but I tell thee it is seed sown into my heart, which 
is silent and yielding like the earth, collecting its strength to 
nourish the seed. Dost thou think I will ever retreat before 
fate, if a good spirit bids me go forward ? truly not. The 
stars have sown it in me, this confidence in the right, in the 
great, that so often remains undone for want of daring 
courage. This is the flower of the seed that bursts forth, 



G-UXDERODE. 



273 



and deeply I impress it on my heart, no more to listen to the 
counsels of men, heed their opinions, or refer to their will, 
thus evading my inner voice, that demands what perhaps 
may endanger, but shows me the Pure, the Real, and Great, 
not borne on a scaffolding of deceit, but purely, as they blend 
with the voice of God from one's own bosom, in holy con- 
trast with all human foresight. As thou followest the stars, 
follow also thy inner self, that was not gifted in vain with 
that piercing voice to make manifest what is reconcilable in 
one's action in this cheerful communion with Nature. Never 
could I do anything my own soul did not sanction, and conse- 
quences, however severe they may seem, shall never pain 
me, if they arose from my confidence in this inner voice. 
For earthly fate ! what is earthly fate ? The actions of the 
human soul can never be too sublime. All little thoughts 
and deeds are a far greater misery, wasting far more good 
than can ever be taken from me by an adverse fate. To be 
great in deeds means nothing more than to let the clear voice 
of conscience blend with the harmony of nature, of the 
stars, of spirits. If it does not blend with them, I can never 
more question the stars, the moon, nor the mists ; not wander 
through the darkness, roving over fields and lawns with 
spirits as with familiar things, my living feeling for Nature 
would die. Were the sun to shine upon me, it would not be 
to fill me with its spirit, nor to quench my thirst from the cup 
it offers, full of the rays of Truth ; and if I gaze as to-day 
upon the coverlet of new-fallen snow spread over the land, 
it would seem dim to me, although it reflects the starlight on 
its diamond surfaces ; and the light in my soul, formed to re- 
flect the image of God, would expire. What matters it if 
youth or age is called my life, if Nature will but teach me 
her language, and not lose patience with her disciple, inspir- 
ing me day by day more ardently till the last hour? 

In whom, of all those that deny my youth, will it have 
such electric bloom ; on which hearth will flames rise so 
high ; and where will the fulness of life roll in mightier waves 
than in my life's stream? Leave them alone, what do they 
know of youth ? Leave the cold world to itself, that meanly 
calculates thee according to thy years, calling thee young or 
old. Who confides in Nature will be remoulded as often ;i< 
she pleases. 

"If thou desire anything," say the stars, "come to us ; " 
18 



274 



GUNDERODE. 



arid I have promised it. Where else indeed should I turn, 
where seek it? No one's arm clasps me so tenderly as the 
spirit of the stars ; it embraces thee and me ; for when I 
collect myself, thou art the centre of my mind. What I 
speak with them I do not hear, neither do I read it. Their 
glittering weaves itself into my mind, and with my faith I 
understand it. Who would rob me of my faith ? When we 
are intoxicated with balm, as it glows through our veins, 
how can we doubt ? It is not that they communicate strik- 
ing truths, nor is it like wisdom what my soul perceives. 

They only nod fulfilment to me of my secret wishes ; thou 
knowest well what that means. Inwardly victorious, soaring 
above all ; outwardly unacknowledged, un-understood. Indeed, 
rather be despised than let them dream how it is, this heav- 
enly trinity between thee and me and the stars. If anything 
goes on in me for thee, I stretch my hands up to them and 
they know my wishes. 

Thy letter to-day has drawn a charmed ring about me. 
Thou hast admitted me into a new sphere, at which I am sad 
and almost jealous, for I feel I should be left behind if thou 
wert to rise on thy great broad pinions. 

Thou art right in all thou sayst, that is, I understand thee. 
Yet a painful feeling is urged upon me, outweighing all the 
good thou sayst about thyself, all thy sacred counsel to me. 
The friend about to set out on a journey would speak so. It 
is not like thy former letters that enter right into the play of 
my thoughts ; but thou standst aside on a height, overlooking 
and directing, as about to part from me. Thou sayst indeed 
thou wert touched by what I wrote, that it drew thee nearer 
to me. There is entire harmony with my own feeling in 
what thou sayst of thyself; but it grieves me that I am to 
write more to Clemens, and make inviolable promises to re- 
main faithful to myself. But most it pains me that thou so 
distinctly tracest the different direction of our mental paths, 
and while choosing the most thorny and difficult one for thy- 
self, thou say^t to me, I need not exert myself, because I 
live in a land of milk and honey. May I not be with thee ? 
not offer thee my milk, my honey, and my fruits? For 
whom then does this milk and honey flow ? Ah, if the trin- 
ity could but continue to exist between thee and me and the 
Spirit, that gives to one or the other for both, I will be satis- 
fied forever, let happen what will, if only the fate that 
would part this union be not forced upon me. 



GUNDERODE. 



275 



I went with thy letter to the tower. Where should I go, 
if I would speak of thee? With what longing "I went up, 
and the stars ! — how their eagerness confused me ; countless 
in number, higher and higher, all glittering as far as the eye 
could reach ! Daily I must turn to them more, and what is 
dream must become reality, if I am to see my way. When 
the germ bursts forth, neither earth and air nor water suffice, 
neither the probable nor improbable ; all counsel, all proof 
are invalid. 

Belief is superstition ; but Spirit is belief. One could ask 
what my confidence in the stars is. If not belief, then su- 
perstition. Between the stars and myself there is only 
Spirit ; I feel it ; they are all mirrors of the Spirit that rises 
from my breast, catching and reflecting it back. That only 
which thou thinkst is truth ; they say, " Do not fold thy 
wings ; fly as high as they will bear thee ; it is no sin to test 
their strength." As Columbus sailed on the shoreless Ocean, 
so do thou not fear to lose sight of the shore on which human 
knowledge has landed and fearfully clings. As God is every- 
where, so may human knowledge be everywhere, for it meets 
God in the endless wilderness. Thy searches for another 
world, which thy forebodings presage, are not sinful, for the 
soul was created to discover countless worlds. These worlds 
exist and are the life of the soul, without which it would not 
be ; because the life of the soul is to discover worlds, and the 
life of worlds is to rise to the Spirit. All men are born to 
the Spirit, and eager to set sail for the discovery of new 
worlds. But the fear of the Spirit is so great in men, that 
they close their ports and will not allow any one to spread 
their sails ; but all shout, " Stone him ! stone him ! for see 
he will leave the harbor in which we have landed." So 
they stone him rather than permit him to leave the harbor, 
and God's wisdom may never guide the human mind on the 
open sea, for they will^iear of no new worlds. But truly, as 
infinite as the number of stars, so countless are the worlds 
the soul has yet to discover; and as the starlight shined 
down on us from the distance, so does the universal Spirit 
shine into the human soul; and this light is the germ 
that grows in the soul, that it may discover the worlds 
of the Spirit. As all Truth is fable, that is, a promise of 
God in the bodiless spirituality of the idea, and all history 
is symbolical, which means : the language of God unto man 



276 



GUNDERODE. 



teaching him to steer for Truth ; so too is the history of Co- 
lumbus a call to the human mind to spread its sails and 
boldly steer for the world that it has prophesied and longing- 
ly would reach. The fable of this realized foreboding is the 
promise that the human mind shall also land if it trust to its 
courage ; for how are we to rouse and nurture courage in us, 
if we do not confide in the inborn power — the Genius. 
What is virtuous is unbounded ; it compasses the heavens, 
we cannot limit it ; neither can we limit the mind, it is Di- 
vine Power, and placing our trust in it is the spirit-germ that 
becomes alive. What gives us courage is always Truth. 
Untruth makes the mind despond. Despondency of mind 
is ghastly, and causes fear. Independent thought requires 
the greatest courage. Most men do not think independently ; 
that is, they will not be taught by the fable of the Divine 
Mind, that penetrates reality with its light, picturing itself in 
hieroglyphs that treasure their wisdom in mysteries, in the 
solution of which man ripens to his blossom and his fruit, 
enabled organically to reach new worlds, thus lifting himself 
ever and ever towards the Deity. But if he is held captive 
in the narrow 7 port for fear of shipwreck, he will never rec- 
ognize the Deity on the open sea. History is symbolical ; 
it is the teaching of God. Were it not so, men would not 
pass through events. 

He who ventures to think will also venture to act ; but 
he who does not free his thoughts, not venturing out into the 
vast, shoreless ocean with his mind, will never act and never 
reach the Deity, because obeying the will of others is not 
action. Acting is self-existence (Selbstsein), and that, living 
iu God. 

This I thought to-day on the tower in the agitation caused 
by thy letter ; rising indignation called out these thoughts to 
me ; an exhortation to remain faithful to thyself and me. As 
one Spirit has embarked with both ofy us, remain true to its 
standard and thy vow, which is, " Joyful courage," because 
with it Spirit will never forsake thee, but without it it dies. 
Wilt thou understand me out of all this ? The dream is too 
vivid yet, and I cannot help being confused. I sink back into 
deeper sleep when, as just now, I cannot comprehend what 
strives to be, and become alive within. 

How can the miraculous be possible ? Indeed, how were 
the soul possible in the human breast without the stars ? They 



GT7ND ERODE. 



277 



all pour their light into him ; they create him, centring 
their power on him, who slumbers in his own breast as in a 
cradle, and are the guardians of his sleep. When he awakes 
he is fed by their spirit, and in sleep he drinks their light. 
Dost thou see ? I spread my sails and dip forward to rend 
the chains that bar the port, because it is my will to meet 
God on the open sea. This will is pure and free from sin. 
therefore it is truth and cannot err in its search for God. My 
soul is not yet awake, but it sleeps beneath a light covering, 
like a child in the sun, delightfully conscious of its glow. 

THURSDAY. 

I must tell thee everything that chases 'in airy flight 
through my head. I feel as if sailing on clouds, the sound 
of my words dying in the distance ; yet I must call to thee, 
as I see thee floating in the cloud-ocean, as though the winds 
had seized thee, — and me too, and thy cloud-steed were 
flying far before me ; — my voice flutters against thy ear, — 
canst thou hear it, — although the moon shines brightly, in 
the infinite blue night that bears thee along? Nothing exists 
but Love ! — but, remember, men distinguish between Love 
and Friendship, and particular attachment to this or that 
one ; not so we. — Who speaks to me, — tell me ? Perhaps 
the Demon, who finds me on the lonely tower, and speak- to 
me of thee ; teaching me to pray for thee. To think of thee 
as thy soul unfolds more and more, is to pray. Wherefore 
should I know what thou art, for what thou thirstest ; where- 
fore comprehend thee so deeply, and feel thy being? I will 
not call it love, if it be not that I learn to express thy being 
before God. All existence is God's spirit, and spirit will 
express itself, unite itself to spirit; and language is the echo 
of existence. I express thee before God, and my prayer is 
pure before God, as thy Genius taught it to me on the tower 
to-day, — and calm as thou, I considered with the stars, after 
which I marked thy name in the snow, and then the name of 
the King of the Jews, who, childlike, calls to God, " Father ! " 
I wrote as guardian beside thine; a sign of thee in the cold 
snow. There thy spirit is free from the evil spell, in the cold 
pure air that blows around thee. The spirit of God above, 
and the incarnate spirit of Love encircling thee, — thai thou 
must live, — unwilling to give thee op in thy radiant course. 
It must be so ; thou art a pet child of God ; for when i look 



278 



GT7NDER0DE. 



up into the cold night, I see thee gently mounting, as though 
it were thy accustomed way, entering, approaching ; but thy 
spirit despairs not. Now, farewell ; I am quiet again, — 
fear nothing for me. One thing I must yet tell thee : I 
never read through my letters ; I let them flutter like sounds 
borne on the wind ; I write them, — understand them as 
thou wilt, it is a deep proof of how my spirit is moved and 
penetrated by thine, — nothing else. And if thou dost not 
find them to be soul, then they are sound — the cry of my 
heart for thee. Then thinkst thou that is Bettine's voice, 
calling upon thee to receive her in thy spirit ; how else can I 
speak to thee ? what can I say ? What else is understood 
between us, excepting the modulations of feeling ? Every- 
thing else we know. bettine. 

TO BETTINE. 

Thou wilt not feel hurt if I am a little afraid of thee ? 
Thou even makest me afraid of myself! I am anxious about 
thee, and beg thou wilt, for Heaven's sake, take care not to 
fall. I am pleased with thy tower-inspirations, but want to 
be certain that thou art not exposed to any danger, else thou 
wilt make me sick. ' Promise directly not to run on that wall 
any more, for I cannot and will not hear any more about it. 
It was refreshing to hear thy voice from above, free and 
light as a sailing cloud ; but I had rather the tower fell down 
some morning, than that thou fall down thyself some night, 
in the end. I know not, art thou a prey to evil Demons ? 
If the good ones are protecting thee, pray do not give them 
so much trouble, as they urge me to exhort thee not to 
trifle. Does not that contain proof that they cannot pro- 
tect thee? If I make myself the recipient of thy prophe- 
cies, and puzzle out the tone of thy soul, in which accident 
as often interferes as the wind that severs all the tones ; if I 
gladly gather what thou scatterest to the winds, then listen 
to me, I beg thee to, or else I cannot think of thee quietly. 
If thou thinkst thou canst not give it up, then keep it at 
least to thyself ; for how shall I overcome the fear of thy 
rashly dashing into an early grave ? 

Thou hast an anxiety about me, as though a grief op- 
pressed my mind ; do not feel so, because it was on the con- 
trary a free moment, in which all saddening pictures became 
dim, that with clear mind I unlocked my innermost heart to 
thee. 



GUXD ERODE. 



279 



I will explain, too, why I desired thee to write to Clemens. 
Thou sayst thou lovest Clemens, in the Idea.' T too can 
feel very affectionately towards him ; but his real life is so 
distant from what I require of him according to this Idea, 
that he is a constant vexation to me, which prevents my form- 
ing a decided opinion of him ; through thy love I gain new 
faith in him. and feel a sort of confidence to an inner germ 
of good in him, hidden and retarded by manifold faults, as a 
healthy and pure spring sometimes sickens into mud and 
sand. Now. I think thy writing to him will clear away these 
perturbing and limiting hindrances, as thou knowst the 
way directly to his heart, which I have not tact enough to 
find. It is only my desire to be on better terms with him, 
and entirely to overcome what by his letters is disagreeably 
placed between us, that I wish thee not to neglect him. 
My conscience charges me to watch that nothing estranges 
thee from him ; for if ever I can comprehend him as faithful 
and sincere, it is towards thee ; wherefore there is double 
need of cherishing it ; it is the spring in which he bathes, to 
rise purified. Here I enclose his letter to me ; what he says 
about thee is so upright, so natural and heartfelt, but the rest 
so singular, that he appeared quite strange to me. I always 
try, when I write to him, to be very concise and truthful. 
This, however, seems only to serve in producing the most 
contrary views in him, concerning me ; I felt after reading 
his letter, and still feel, as if it were not intended for me. 
Were I to tell him so. I must be prepared to have him take 
it as an artifice, although I assure him it is the natural result. 
He cannot possibly think that his deeper insight into my 
nature, where praise or blame is due. should be entirely 
strange to me. I only understand the moment in which he 
wrote, and have on the whole not got any further than to 
understand his moments a little ; but of the connection of 
these moments, and their fundamental causes, I know nothing. 
Sometimes he seems to me like one who has many souls; when 
I begin to be attached to one of these souls, it goes away, be- 
ing replaced by another at which I stare in surprise : nor 
does it treat me well, like the friendly one that came before. 
I should much like to analyze and classify these souls. Yet I 
do not like to think of them, for one of the souls turned that 
shy child, my confidence, into the street, which, having there- 
by become more shy, will not return, and this is the reason 



280 



GUND ERODE. 



why I cannot write to him any more about myself. His let- 
ter to thee on fc ' Truth," gave me much pleasure, explaining 
much that before was dark and uncertain. Through thee 
I can understand and be just to him much better, even affec- 
tionate, as he seems to require. This makes me wish that, 
what I can lovingly be to him, may be promoted by thee; 
speak of me in such a way that I must appear natural to him, 
that there may be peace between us, because by direct inter- 
course it will never be brought about. 

Savigny has written to me himself ; do me the favor, when 
opportunity offers, to send those French translations of which 
he told me, and which he has promised to let me have. 

For the rest, I would like to fill out this space on my 
paper with something thou dost not expect, because it is old 
and oft repeated ; yet it is ever on my tongue and on my 
mind when I read thy letters, that indeed have a very differ- 
ent effect from Clemens's, which make me think and consider, 
while over thine I only feel, and they are grateful as a breath 
of air from the Holy Land. Thou wilt be the more aston- 
ished when I ask, what in this hovering between heaven and 
earth will become of thy music, of thorough-bass, and com- 
posing ? — is it not stupid in me to ask? — but consider how 
much enjoyment they already afforded thee at Offenbach, 
how much thou couldst already do for thyself and those dear 
to thee, how soothingly it influenced thy excitement, that 
thou couldst so often quiet by it, and how beautifully thou 
couldst reconcile thy moods in the unattainable, by song. 
How often hast thou assured me thyself how deeply music 
penetrated thee ; should this have ceased, all at once — or 
hast thou only forgotten to write to me about it ? Farewell, 
love, and do not weary of writing. Caroline. 

Thy Columbus idea rejoices me extremely, it has made 
me quite subtile. Send Clemens thy rhythmical vision, it 
will perhaps please him ; I feel much more living than 
painted flame in it ; the description of evening already flows 
from living recollection, which is prophetic song of the world's 
destruction, and anticipation of the blossoming millennium. 
I well remember the ecstatic mirth in Arnim's song : " How 
the drunk page, wrapt in night's mantle to screen his secret 
love, would seek his lady's bower, but reeled into the den 
where lay the lioness and her sucking cubs." 



GrUND ERODE. 



281 



TO GUXD ERODE. 

Have I not told thee about Koch, who crucifies me twice 
a week with his thorough-bass lessons ? — corrects every- 
thing I compose, cutting it down till not a tone, not a bar re- 
tains its old place : and when he has clipped it to make it 
look like a trimmed- down nosegay, he adds some streamer 
from his own wardrobe. 

Arnim's worldly songs become sacred martyrs during my 
music-studies, but I cannot express their beatitude by prel- 
ude or finale, and must be comforted by the reflection, that 
salvation is something never yet heard by human ears. On 
the whole I do not deny that my music does not prosper, but 
not from far niente. it is an obdurate silence of my throat, 
leading me to suppose that with races of men as well as differ- 
ent kinds of birds, there are certain seasons of the year when 
they feel an irresistible impulse to sing. At Offenbach, it was 
in June or Julv I rose sinofinof. and towards evening I 
mounted as high as the birds flew into the gilded tree-tops, 
to sing to the departing sun : and the dove-cot was my temple- 
roof, where melodies would come to me ; budding from the 
gentle contact of tone and feeling, they lose the fetters of 
that which languishes in. my bosom as in a dungeon, they 
quickly give it wings, that it may rise and freely expand 
them. I have often thought how easily, or as it were, of its 
own accord, music yields melodiously to rhythm, which is far 
less comprehended and ruled by reason than language, which 
never fathoms and develops the metre of thought without ex- 
ertion. The melody, which rises in song-time ready made 
from the throat, without the aid of the mind, is so surprising 
that it always appears to me a miracle. Is language perhaps a 
spiritual music not yet organically perfected ? and the stress of 
poesy, the impulse of the spirit of language to ripen? — shall 
feeling, perception, soul perhaps, be organically united by the 
language of poesy as an independently active phenomena ? 
have not poems spiritual affinities, passions? does not one 
poem seize the other with glowing ardor? are poetical com- 
positions not mere inspiration, glowing passion, one 1 for the 
other? If a poem expresses love, it must be loving in itself 
— it inflames ! I must live through every change of feeling, 
through every breath, lor I love as ardently as the poem- 
begetting inspiration of love. 



282 



GUNDERODE. 



It was sacrilege to compose because I drink the wine, and 
see the god in my intoxication, because the impulse of wor- 
ship trembles through me. I tell thee I cannot produce the 
godlike, and yet I am certain that I fervently love and recog- 
nize it even in the simplest germ ; but I myself will beget love 
as little as a poem ; I feel it, and there is in the secret work- 
shop of my soul contradiction which will not be disturbed by 
reciprocated love. I meet little or nothing in the world of 
men that were simple enough, unalloyed impulse of life, that 
appeals to me like a blade of grass, like the early sprouting 
grain, like a bird's nest unwearyingly built, or the blue 
sky; all these affect me like the human, and more fervently 
than the human ; the transports caused me by the influence 
of Nature are like the spell of a sympathetic power ; this 
must be the loving contents of my soul, and nothing else. It 
must be the poesy of my nature that I love thus, receiving, 
yielding, but not being received. Therefore it is love that 
poetically composes the human soul, and the contents of the 
poem are love without requital — the highest electric force ! 
— Spiritual impulse ! — like mine ! 

Perhaps temperaments are poem-germs whose sole mission 
it is to be developed faultlessly. I wish I grew from a great 
poetical mind that richly but humanly feels ; no luxuriously 
transcendental excitement, only the sweet power of Nature, 
self-conscious feeling, producing me from its fervency, from 
the blessed charm of spring-light. Truly I wish I were not 
a bad poem. Bud more thickly twin-berries, ripen quickly 
and more shiningly ! Ye are warmed by the mother-sun's part- 
ing glance, the teeming plenty of Heaven breathes around 
ye ; ye are kindly fanned by the charmed breath of the moon, 
and bedewed — ah ! — by these eyes — full of the eternally 
life-giving tears of love. This poem — it seems to me like 
myself, ripening under the influences of Nature and the tears 
of the Poet. How often in song-time I have sung this song, 
reflecting myself entirely in it ; the growing fruit nourished 
by love's falling tear, that was not wept for it. 

MONDAY. 

Yesterday we were in the St. Elizabeth Cathedral ; the 
hoar-frost on the steeple-top was changed to diamonds by the 
sun, and diamonds clustered in all the cornices ; the garland 
of roses, delicately chiselled in stone over the portal, was 



G-UXDERODE. 



283 



changed to a diamond wreath. The church seemed decked 
in bridal array. The trees in the church-yard. too. swayed 
in glittering jewels. The church, without, so splendidly decked 
by the winters sun. was still wrapped in solitary twilight 
within ; the rug woven by the holy hands of Elizabeth, was 
spread before the altar, in faded colors not pleasing to the eve, 
only as a resting-place for the soul. I looked about me and 
saw a blind man sitting by the door ; otherwise the church 
was empty. Then I felt an electric thrill as the spirit of 
poesy gives it. " Autumn feeling ? " why! — should I not 
love my Creator? — who feel myself thriving on the dew of 
his hot tears. In solitude the spirit of poesy is eloquent ; 
when at night the moon breathes upon me from above, and 
the breezes play around me, I feel the Poet within, who suppli- 
cating them for my welfare, sheds the rising tear. Only to 
the twin berries, that fresh and childlike aspire to him. he 
gives the ever animating dew of love ; how then can I be 
anything but the bitter grape, when the sweet one only is 
ripened by his tears of fire. I have made this clear to myself 
and shall abide by it, my inner being and my mission among 
men express it. 

There is a great difference in poetic minds. Some are 
like Xature itself, that addresses me with distinct sensuous 
words ; some are minds tested by Genius in every direction, 
that in their unassuming consciousness of immortality call to 
the soul to consecrate the altar to the gods, ever bearing the 
remembrance of the godlike, — which will become living 
Genius within it. — the vigorous form of bold and sacred 
thoughts. Many emotions of the mind are widely different, 
as though poesy could touch souls like chords, making them 
resound to its fire, — or bloom stilly and timidly like sprouting 
germs that look about them in the light of life, not under- 
standing life, but determined to live. 

If I could tell thee what makes me powerless, so that I 
shyly shun the impression, as though I must not listen to it, 
yet secretly lend it an ear, because it fascinates me, I do not 
know if it be the sound, or the meaning, and how both 
alternately overpower me, and how I — yes I will tell thee: 
— A divine, individual Spirit which I love penetrates me, 
I must love it in poesy till I am heart-broken with great 
grief. 

Yet more! — It is still deeper: — I burst into grievous 



284 



GUND ERODE. 



sighs. And did I not feel this spiritual individuality in 
poesy, hovering over me as though rejoicing in its triumph, 
I would have to wander after it in frenzy, to seek it without 
finding, — return to collect myself and expire. It is Goethe 
who sends these lightning flashes through me, then looks at 
me healingly as though my sorrow pained him, swathing 
my soul again in the soft wrappings from which it had freed 
itself, that it may find peace in slumber, and slumbering 
thrive, in the glory of night, in the sun ; and to the air by 
which I am rocked, he confides me. I do not w r ant to 
feel differently in regard to him than in this poem ; it is 
the cradle in which I feel myself surrounded by sympathy, 
nearer his care, catching the tears of his love, on which I 
thrive. Thou hast said " we will see him, the great, cloud- 
dividing, heaven-illuminating one ; " and I replied, yes we 
will see him ! but after I had said it out of sympathy and 
love for thee, I became jealous and at home alone I wept 
bitter tears because I had promised " we would see him." 
The reason is because he has so long tuned the chords of 
my soul, stormingly touching them, and again lulling me 
gently to sleep like a child ; and gladly I am the child upon 
which his eye rests with gratification. Had I not been filled 
by Nature with what bubbles from his own breast, how could 
I be wdiat I am ? and it is all I wish to be. I am certain 
that not all are made like myself, that the individual out 
of the poesy surrounds and ripens me, in the gushing 
exuberance of his secret soul. Tell me, thou ! how could I 
breathe, rest, and grow, were it not in that cradle of his feel- 
ing, in his poems ? Am I not well bedded ? and couldst thou 
wish it sweeter ? Indeed thou understandst what I mean ; 
the " Manes" have set me to rights in thee, thou understand- 
est life, and much more ; for I only feel that of which thy 
soul teaches thee the trace, but thou knowst everything. 

Thou sayst thyself, " To what our wishes do not attract 
us, is lost ; and we consider impossible w r hat only requires a 
wish to be realized." 

And since thou hast told me that harmony of the faculties 
is Unity — I have ventured because I love him ; I willingly 
accept everything, pain and ecstasy ; because feeling through 
him is continuous ecstasy. It is his gift, that I can feel how 
he breathes upon me from the flower of his poesy ; he wishes 
it, and is rejoiced that I am agitated ; it inspires the Poet's 



GUXD ERODE. 



mind. Others only know the closed bud ; but to me the 
blossom opens and absorbs me ; therefore I am alone for 
him, and he alone for me. although the whole world may 
think to have a share in him ; I know it is not so, but must 
insist upon it, if I am not to be consumed by jealousy. Thou 
hast said, " To neutralize that which really constituted a har- 
mony, must necessarily dissolve this union." To me, this 
will never happen. Thou sayst, " The noise of the world, 
the hurry of business, the habit of only touching the surface, 
do not allow this deepest and finest organ of the soul to per- 
fect itself." What attracts me to the loved one ? do I not 
feel the great and mighty so far above me? indeed, some- 
thing which often seems sublimer than the loved one himself: 
is it not that which I seek ? do I not comprehend this great- 
ness independently of him ? is it not in memory of him, and 
at the same time a higher recognition, which by harmony is 
revealed with it ? can I be faithless to him in this if I yield 
to the other ? and does not inspiration always produce the 
same i Ah, no ! within the limits of Love we cannot be 
faithless, only beyond them. In the cheerfulness that elates 
me I feel inspiration to be incapable of faithlessness. I can- 
not be unfaithful ; and often think I am sinning against what 
I love, if I do not love everything. There are things I must 
love, (temperaments, minds,) by which I am nourished as the 
plant by light, water, earth, and air; — everything that causes 
me inspiration is like a ray of the sun. 

If the sun glows upon a flower, we are aware of her con- 
descension, and that the flower feeds upon the light with 
ardent passion. Who would not call this love ? who knows 
but what the sun's love is requited? who can tell if the 
flower returns it ? Thou k no west when the sun's heat is 
intense, the flowers are not fragrant; but when it sets, they 
waft their odors after it ; and when it comes, they greet it 
with them. Does this rise up to it ? I ask myself ; I long 
to know. I believe thee when thou sayst, that what we 
wish becomes possible ; certainly then the fragrance of the 
flowers must reach the sun ; are not its rays another's ? — can 
anything living affect me without my affecting it in return i 
— are not its rays probosces, with which it draws the odor 
from the flower-cups ? And the Poet who opens the flowers 
with the rays of his inspiration, does he not suck their fra- 
grance ? Is it not inspiration when the clouds disperse before 



286 



GU"ND ERODE. 



the mind's sun, — its rays falling upon the budding soul ? Ei, 
therefore the flowers are not fragrant when the sun burns 
upon them, because it drinks all the odors with its lips. 
After a shower all is fragrant. Then, quickly it comes and 
throws itself upon them, drinking the wealth of their chalices 
till their fragrance is blended with its rays. When it retires, 
the fragrance follows it, rolling over the hills. Because, if 
we stand on a hill at sunset, we feel the balm rising from the 
valley in the wake of the setting sun. But at noon, in the 
hot season, when the sun descends to them, it is not so, be- 
cause she drinks up everything ; thus it is the same with 
them as with two lovers, — not leaving us to doubt their rap- 
tures. There is still earth and water to nourish the plant; 
the former bears it in its bosom, and the latter penetrates to 
the roots or falls upon it from heaven, changing their most 
delicate nutrition, the holiness of their nature, into palpable 
shapes. Are, perhaps, herbs and blossoms words — lan- 
guage, in which the feelings of earth and water become audi- 
ble ? Is the fragrance, the bloom of the flowers, perhaps, the 
earth's longing, — the inspiration of the water, finding free- 
dom to rise from the open blossoms to the sun, to its beloved ? 
The dark earth pours its fragrant sighs upon the flowers 
springing from its bosom, upward to unbounded freedom. 
The water, ever borne onward by its curling waves, in 
flower and tree becomes sap, and combined with other nutri- 
ment becomes substance, spirit, language, breathing its devo- 
tion in impulsive sighs. But what is air? Is it not a medi- 
ator between the others ? — Genius of the world, giving life, 
guiding, eternally breathing through the Spirit ? What is 
Spirit ? is it not knowledge, aspiration, desire to lose one's self 
from the mother-lap, and rise to the Spirit ? is the breath- 
ing of our physical life not the same ? do not the feelings 
And relief in sighs ? Without this constant absorption of the 
heavenly element, the body could not live, and the soul dies 
each moment without the guiding Genius, in which its actual 
vitality consists. Air is the Genius of life, its higher self, 
Water and Earth are its parents. Air is the mediator be- 
tween the divine love, ardor, and the young, childlike desire 
for it ; if the kisses of the sun are too fervent, it cools them 
with gentle breezes, easing their pent-up breath, the heart 
throbbing doubly as its quickening stream enters. Life 
yields itself up entirely when urged by powerful emotions. 



GUXD ERODE. 



287 



To air it confides itself ; when it becomes unconscious, it 
hovers around the departed till new life pours in, "more mighty 
and powerful than before. When my soul has been benumbed, 
I feel distinctly a reciprocal joy between me and the Deity, by 
which I am sustained and nourished, without which the spirit 
languishes, and cannot bring nourishment to the soul from 
above. Indeed all revelation is the breath of the spirit 
breathing through it, without which he cannot live a moment, 
but is stifled ; sleeping or waking, the Genius always breathes 
the air. I am so happy, Giinderode, upon the hills here, with 
the wind rushing about me as though it would carry me off. 
I am full of mirth, and wonder if it is the spirit that tries to 
lift me up and carry me off. 

The sun has a hot glow, with which it burns, and the soul 
has a hot light, that burns wherever it falls. 

One after another slipped into the church to confession to- 
day ; the priest sat in the confessional, looking at me, to see 
if I were coming, and out of sheer shyness I go and con- 
fess, how I always wonder why the three kings from the 
East did not protect the holy child, but left it in the stable, 
although they were convinced it was God's son, by a star 
rising to show them the way ; they ought to have taken the 
child to their country with them, but instead of that they jour- 
neyed on ; and they did not strike me as holy in the least, but 
like negligent, worldly men. The father confessor replied, 
" That is the way of tne world ; they had business to attend to, 
just as people have nowadays/ But," said he, "that is not 
worth confessing ; those are sins scratched from the plate for 
the cat, and God will not care a straw for them. You may 
pray half a Pater Noster, or a quarter for all I care, as pen- 
ance." When I left the church and found myself again in 
the open air, it was already past three o'clock, and the sun 
was declining. I soon stood upon the tower and recollected 
that I was going to confess my jealousy of thee, how I could 
not endure thy seeing him together with me; I wanted to be 
alone with him. But now I am free from this sin ; by think- 
ing, evil is dispelled before our eyes like mist, and we find 
it to be only an illusion. For I believe the poet to be my sun, 
and thou art the breeze that blows away all surrounding evil, 
and teachest my soul to rise. How can I stand the test 
before him, without thee? In this manner every human 
mind is probably nourished by elements which one must 



288 



GUND ERODE. 



furnish to the other, and remember that thou art the atmos- 
phere without which I cannot draw a single breath. 

BETTINE. 

TO GUND ERODE, 

I have written a long letter to Clemens, in which I have 
told him about thee, too, how thou thinkst kindly of him, and 
that I write long letters to thee, to which I receive only a 
short answer or none at all. I told him that I spoke to thee 
as to an echo, in order to feel and hear myself, putting no 
check upon my thoughts and fancies, and that it seemed as 
if those letters were dictated by a good Genius. He replied, 
u Giinderode is to be envied thy letters to her, if they are the 
productions of thy Genius ; but it is strange she should an- 
swer so little ; either there is nothing to answer, or else mat- 
ters are already settled." To-day he writes me a long letter 
about thee ; I am right, he did not intend to grieve thee, and 
loves thee too. All his souls are only one good one ; thou 
art only a child, and that is all he is towards thee ; children, 
however, do not waste their time in being sensitive, they are 
quickly reconciled and let the stream wash their toys from 
the shore they broke for one another, inventing new and 
more amusing ones. Do not read the letter with prejudice, 
but think thou hearest the voices of mischievous sprites, that 
oftenest play their tricks upon him ; but the soul, the one 
kindly one, about which they hover, is only a child like thy- 
self ; and what a free, heaven-aspiring spirit does not take 
in a higher sense than even itself, is too trifling for it, and 
trifling things we must not occupy ourselves with, if we desire 
to comprehend the truth. I think, of all the histories of the 
heart's and soul's experiences, we had better place the lead- 
ing strings in the hands of the Deity, who will always con- 
duct it to a direct and unerring understanding. If thou art 
misunderstood, then look upon God himself in his love ; him 
you need not fear, for he must understand thee. 

I give advice which cannot be strange, Giinderode ; if thou 
recollect on the Rhine, when we discussed our correspondence, 
thou saidst : there was in every circumstance a soul reconcil- 
ing us to it by love, that it must strengthen within us, else it 
were betrayal, murder, stifling of a divine germ. Where an 
attraction exists there is also an impulse towards it which 
we should follow, for thus the soul would grow, each con- 



GUXD ERODE. 



289 



tact with the soul of another being growth of our own ; and 
all animation awakened for it. is like the awakening and un- 
folding of vegetable life. The human mind were preparing 
itself for a higher step of nature, for that of the plant, while 
that of the body stood on the last, the animal one. The body 
would die, but in the land of spirits the first metamorphosis 
the soul passed through were the vegetable creation. Thou 
thoughtst at the time that I was absent-minded, and listening 
to the bugles on the shore, but now thou seest I have double 
ears, not only hearing for myself, but for thee too, as per- 
haps thou hast long since forgotten it. Thou saiclst. thou 
lovedst thyself in me ; do love thyself in Clemens too. I can- 
not find what I want to say. Bring him up as thou wantest 
him to be. as thou thinkst he should be, in order not to pain 
thee, to the very life thou requires! of him in thy idea ; it 
must be the true one belonging to him, and thou plainly 
showest by it that thou placest him above others. This idea 
is the real true one ; do think of the others that ideally thou 
canst not give them a place, but must leave them where they 
are. If thou wert to find a playfellow with such splendid 
great eyes, such an ivory forehead, and moments in which 
the gods prophesied through him, but rude and spiteful at 
play, biting thy hand, or scratching when thou wouldst caress, 
even striking at thee with his whip. — wouldst thou then 
regard him as a spiteful boy only, giving up thy first idea of 
him? — wouldst thou turn from him because he gave thee 
a poke in the ribs, leaving the higher idea unnoticed ? 
Don't let thy ribs be so sensitive, God don't do so, — he 
adheres to the sublime in man, and for God nothing else 
exists. 

Nothing shall exist for thee but the good ; even if thou 
dost not meet it, thou shalt know of and believe in it. 

Do not dismiss him, Giinderode, struggle on with him, who 
bears the idea within him thou requirest, yet far suhlimer 
than he can ever realize it ; the others have no idea in them, 
they can neither remain behind it, nor progress. I lost 
myself so deeply in thought, that I fell asleep ; it often 
happens to me that I drop asleep in the midst of my best 
thoughts, just when I begin to feel as though a deeper un- 
derstanding w r ere awakening and I am eagerly bent on discov- 
ering what will produce itself in me ; and instead of its awak- 
ening within me I must go to sleep over it, as though an 
19 



290 



GUND ERODE. 



ideal Nature would not let me know what it thinks and 
feels. 

There is a conjurer in us who sees us strive after his 
knowledge, and confounds all our efforts ; thus when I begin 
to see revelation dawn, he puts me to sleep. 

I am reading " Wilhelm Meister " for the second time ; on 
reading it the first time, my life had not yet attained to 
Mignon's death ; I loved with her, and like her ; the other 
persons in the story are indifferent to me ; I was moved by 
everything that concerned the faithfulness of her love, only 
into death I could not follow her. I feel that I am removed 
far beyond this death, into life, but I am far more vague, 
and age lies heavy on me already when I think of it. I 
felt with her, and died with her then, and now I have lived 
through it, looking down upon death. Man certainly must 
die more than once, — he dies with the friend that leaves him. 
I suffered and died with that child, because I felt its fate 
like my own, loving it too dearly to let it enter the gates of 
death alone. If thou considerest all this, thou wilt be indul- 
gent towards my fear for thee. 

I have not heard from thee for a long time ; on Clausner I 
cannot depend, and do not want to ask thee for letters ; thou 
hast much to think of, and perhaps thy eyes trouble thee ; 
nevertheless I am filled with anxiety on thy account if I do 
not get a letter on the day I expect it, which is increased if 
one post-day passes after the other ; then nothing relieves me 
but to go to the tower in starlight nights to think of thee ; 
there I feel the strong will of my spirit capable of protecting 
thee. During the last nights so much snow has fallen, that 
I was obliged to shovel a little path during the day to get to 
my tower, for as long as I am able, nothing shall keep me 
from going up there, to be with thee in my thoughts, and to 
pray for thee, till we meet. 

From the Rheingau thou wrotest to me, briefly, but I saw 
by those two lines that thou wert affectionately inclined. 

BETTINE. 

TO BETTINE. 

Do not doubt, dear Bettine, that thy letters gave me great 
pleasure, although I have written so sparingly in reply, but 
thou knowest, thinking much and writing often are two very 
different things with me ; besides I have had a great deal of 
headache lately. 



(xTJND ERODE. 



291 



You do not say a word about Savigny and Gundel ; do 
write about them. 

I imagine thy life to be very secluded and genial, — yet 
fear thou accomplishest nothing. To Clausner thou hast 
written about thy studying mathematics with an old Jew, 
and that perhaps thou wooldst begin Hebrew, having already 
learnt part of the alphabet. 

Thy history thou treatest as a kitten does a ball, throwing 
it back and forth as long as it amuses thee, afterwards to 
leave it untouched. What thou sayst about thy music, is 
nonsense ; dost thou think because a thing is averse to the 
mind, and thou art not successful, it is a just reason to give 
it up ? I am of an opposite opinion ; even if thou dost find 
a thing trivial, the thing is not necessarily so, it is the want 
of clearness in thy comprehension ; how wilt thou exercise 
thy faculties if not in what seems difficult to them ? I be- 
lieve that much which at present seems foreign to thy mind 
would then claim its inner relationship to thee. Thou hast 
a desire for knowledge without perseverance, wilt learn 
everything at once without applying thyself to anything ; I 
have always regretted this in thee. Thy eagerness and 
inclination are not perennial plants, but delicate and easily 
fading flowers ; is it not so ? For this reason it disturbed 
me when I heard that thy history-teacher had left thee ; the 
event really seemed to come in aid of thy natural bent ; — he 
was said to be so intellectual, easily understood and amiable, 
and I felt offended that he did not take more interest in thee. 
Lately I have had to suffer again for thy extravagances in 
study ; they were communicated to me in a reproachful tone, 
and I was well aware that my astonishment at them and 
ignorance of thy proceedings were not credited. 

Regarding Clemens, 1 do not think it will be well done to 
yield, as thou suggestest ; I cannot turn into his path to meet 
and face him, but be assured, wherever a meeting does take 
place, it will be a peaceable and friendly one ; I am far from 
giving him up, he rather stands too high for me, I cannot 
reach him with my mind, and only find fault with him for 
wasting his splendid talents ; 1 believe it is, as thou sayst, 
paltry in me, and hope to correct myself. 

1 do not know if I should speak of my letters as he speaks 
to me of them; yet it seems singular to me to hear mv>clf 
speak, and my own words often strike mc as more strange than 



292 



GUNDERODE. 



other people's. Even the most truthful letters, according to 
my opinion, are mere corpses, mere mementos of a life that 
was ; although they resemble the living, yet the impulse of their 
life is past ; therefore when I read what I have written some 
time ago, I think I see myself lying in my coffin, staring at 
my other self in astonishment. 

My confidence, indeed, was not an amiable child, had 
not the art of making itself loved, and nothing pretty to say ; 
moreover, the by-standers whispered to it : 44 Child be wise ! 
do not put thyself forward, or Clemens will suddenly play 
thee a trick, find thee insupportable and lay the blame on 
thee." At this the child became embarrassed and awkward, 
it did not know how to be wise, and wavered hither and 
thither ; can it be blamed for this ? But headstrong the 
child is not ; if it is kindly and cheerfully received in a 
house, it rather enters than remains on the street. 

Thou canst tell Clemens of this, and also that his jests at 
my manner of writing, and the clumsy words I use do not 
vex me at all. These portions of his letters always make 
me laugh, and I shall never be able to use the word Rath- 
schlage (counsels) again, as it will invariably suggest som- 
ersets.* 

I know very few persons, perhaps no one thoroughly, for I 
am not skilful in observing others, if therefore I understand 
one trait, I cannot infer the rest from that. There are prob- 
ably but few persons who can do this, and I least of all. 
Now I think it will be well and pleasing to contemplate 
Clemens ; besides I think he likes to be contemplated. Is 
this view right or wrong? Caroline. 

In reading thy letter and my own, I recognize how differ- 
ent our frames of mind are, yet I do not fear thou wilt doubt 
me, or interpret my oversight falsely ; but what shall I add, 
or suggest to communications that flow as spontaneously as 
thine to me ; I will only touch upon what thou hast over- 
looked. Thou resemblest a conqueror who from sheer hero- 
ism despises all weapons, disdains the means of protection 
and defence, indeed every weapon to secure his conquest ; I 
really think thou wouldst dispense with thy shirt. Yet to 
know, to understand, and to learn are not only the arma- 
ments of the soul, but also its limbs, with which it defends 
* Radschlage, somersets. 



GUXDERODE. 



293 



itself, and conquers what is clue to its genius. Consider this, 
and lend my teachings a condescending ear. 

Thy confession I accept with sanction, and give the abso- 
lution ; besides I promise to accompany thee on thy visit to 
thy creator. I hope I am not to play the first part in this 
longed-for fulfilment of thy wish. 

Do write a little more distinctly about thy Chaos of con- 
fusions. 

TO GO'DERODE. 

The Frankforters wrote to me, and gave me a good bast- 
ing with all sorts of queer prophecies. First : I am to 
acquire domestic virtues ; secondly, where do I think to find 
a husband, if I learn Hebrew? Such things disgust a man 
like Spartan soup, writes dear, sweet, angelic Franz ; u no 
one will want to settle at such a hearth, and a dish of mathe- 
matics, seasoned by an old black Jew, will not relish : I would 
not bid any guests to that, and the dessert of thorough-bass 
is as good as preserves of assafcetida. What a delightful 
table that would be ! ?? etc. He says. I am generally ridiculed, 
because Lullu was married before me ; and then adds, very 
good-naturedly, if I had shown myself as domestic as she, I 
would also have found a husband. I told him he might 
ridicule with the rest, for that now it was too late to mend, and 
that I had put the Jew into my order of the day. to keep me 
from the moth-eaten joys of domestic bliss, because I had had 
occasion to observe, that in a happy domestic relation the tiles 
on the neighbor's roof are counted of a Sunday, which seemed 
so extremely wearying to me that I preferred not to marry. 

The Doctor's untruthful ironical letter was answered by 
another, so was Clausner's ; there were many delicate allu- 
sions to thee that I answered in a charming humorous style. 
Thou seest thy turn has come at last. 

With Clemens I have smoothed things over. — Thy care 
for my extravagances in learning could be relieved. The 
wind blows and shakes everything out of my head. If thou 
believest I am to blame for not learning anything, thou art 
mistaken. It is impossible to collect my thoughts ; they hop 
like frogs on a green meadow. Thinkst thou I do not re- 
proach myself? — dost thou not believe that I make a desper- 
ate effort every day, with the firm resolve to take a thing 
over and over till I am entirely familiar with it? — -but 



294 



GTJNDERODE. 



knowst thou what takes off my attention? — it is because I 
always know what is coming before the teacher finishes his 
explanation ; by the time he has chewed his cud, my thoughts 
have flown ; so it is not that I do not learn, I have only not 
listened to what he says. With Hoffmann at Offenbach, it 
was a very different thing, he taught so problematically, put- 
ting a hundred interesting questions to me, — some indeed 
he left unanswered, some tending to very unexpected results ; 
but all stimulating me to return to them. I do not intend to 
excuse myself by this ; I know it is a fault, a weakness, a dis- 
ease, which I will not leave off struggling against, even should 
I have to deal with it to the end of my days ; I will not give 
up what has once aroused my eagerness, I may say my pas- 
sion, for it. 

Thorough-bass ! if thou couldst only dream what an ideal 
this word conjures before my senses, and what an old peri- 
wigged fellow my teachers introduce to me instead, insisting 
that he is the one I dream of, thou wouldst pity me for being 
obliged to recognize the Genius in this shape. Indeed it 
is not he. The whole w r orld consists of Philistines, and they 
find no peace till they have dragged the whole world down 
to their own level. Were he freely and originally treated, 
his manifestations would be childlike, and not unreasonable, 
with nothing but bidding and forbidding, which does not 
seem legitimate. " This thou must do, and this thou must 
not." — Why ? — " Because it is rule." Yes, but — I feel 
it will not prevent me, I will do what is in my power, 
and for the rest God must grant indulgence to my wanting 
faculties. Thou also must make allowance for a decided 
turn of mind, that tempts me ever to other thoughts. One 
advantage I have however, — my great talents are being 
very much questioned, or rather denied, my talent is styled 
"conceit," and my character " inconsistent," every one thinking 
me capable of every kind of folly, without a right to draw it 
to account. I feel very comfortable in my skin, and at ease 
with all men. It never occurs to any one, however, that I 
never pretended to any of those fine qualities they expected 
would come out of the shell, and that it was our good angel 

7 o o 

who trumpeted all these things into the world behind my 
back, and in consequence I am called a conceited, puffed-up 
creature, who thinks her imagination flows in golden showers. 
It neither pains nor mortifies me, but is on the contrary an 



GUNDEKODE. 



295 



inducement to be charmingly stupid ; 1 join in the laugh 
against me, and so the mirth continues. 

Thou ioquirest for Savigny ; he is the same as ever : he 
beams with the greatest kindness and generosity, the great- 
est indulgence and purest intentions in everything, enter- 
tains the noblest confidence in the will, and regard for in- 
dividual nature. — indeed I do not believe a more perfect 
harmony can exist. I am not in the least disturbed, therefore, 
if he calls me conceited a hundred times over, laughs at my 
absurdities, and thinks me capable of still greater ones, — 
placing no faith at all in my sound common sense ; but he 
does it all with such amiable sarcasm, so good-naturedly, 
without the least intention of giving pain, and is so indul- 
gent — why. truly. I could desire nothing better than to be so 
agreeably exiled, and I seem to myself like an actor who has 
become a favorite by the representation of one character, and 
who, because he becomes pleased with himself, always retains 
it. Clemens indeed complains that he never received the 
least return for all his confidence, that he always felt himself 
repulsed, and that it seemed as if he only stopped the wheel 
of his studying-machine out of civility, till he had finished 
speaking. He had often been vexed, on going to his room 
eagerly, to make some communication, to have had simply a 
hearing without receiving any reply, and hardly had he 
turned his back when the studying-machine rumbled on at its 
old pace. 

Here Clemens is wrong. First, Savigny's interest in 
life, outside of his scientific sphere, is only a borrowed one, 
perhaps only from duty ; secondly, it is a mistake on Cle- 
mens's part to think he must make communications to him if 
he finds they are disregarded, of chooses to be confidential on 
matters in which Savigny holds different views. It never oc- 
curs to me to tell him anything of the kind, and I am glad 
enough if he looks upon the errors and follies that one will 
presuppose in me as supportable. " What folly art thou com- 
ing out with next ? " or, - I beg of thee don't talk so extra va- 
gantlv." they often say to me ; or, " How can-t thou say >ueh 
a thing, people will not understand thee." At this, extrava- 
gances generally pop into my head, and I -ay them only to 
hear them scolded at. There, thou canst Bee that I am well 
off, but thou needst not become jealous, for no one shares my 
deeper confidence in thee : — but for just these reasons I am 



296 



GUNDERODE. 



jealous of thee, and anxious ; for not only do persons stand in 
my way, but I also fear every accident, every caprice, and dis- 
traction of thine ; I would always know thee cheerful. When 
thou hadst a headache, I always looked about for it, as for an 
aggressive force, that was to be pursued and routed, even in 
its flight. If any one writes me, thou art still, or hast not 
been seen, or it is believed thou hast left town, I am always 
troubled, careless as I am; and if I do forget it a moment, 
the idea soon comes again, and increases my sad thoughts 
about thee, — and those I have often enough, truly. 

My teacher in mathematics is the old Jew. One morning 
he stood at my door, in a black gaberdine, white collar, and 
his shining black beard, to ask permission to call upon me. 
I was glad to see him; he looks so much nobler than the 
other people we daily come in contact with, or meet in great 
assemblies. At the theatre I have often vainly looked about 
for one commanding countenance. He seated himself directly 
with quiet ease at the table on which he rested his arm, and 
soon observing my surprise at his amiability, smiled upon 
me like a prince. I asked, where have you been this long 
time ? 44 Why," said he, " how strangely you speak ; am I 
changed, and not to be called 4 good Jew ' any more ?" I in- 
voluntarily held out my hand and said yes ! I wish you had 
seen the ironical expression in that sublime face, and his 
mild, condescending smile to me. He continued, 44 1 am not 
pleased with the thou from every mouth, by which the Jew 
must submit to be addressed, but I do not care to wean your 
lips from it." Thou wouldst have been pleased with the 
man, Giinderode ; he merely related general things from his 
own life, of his seventeen grandchildren, and their joy at see- 
ing him again ; I asked him how old they were, and how 
they all looked. 44 There are five of them who have lost 
father and mother ; they are most dear to me ; the eldest one 
resembles me; you would know him to be my grandchild far 
off." — And the second? — 44 He is like me in his love for 
mathematics; he cares for nothing else, and likes to be 
alone." — How is it with the third, does he resemble you too? 
— 44 He is a little fellow, but does not deny his grandfather ; 
and the daughters are both so helpful, one is thirteen and the 
other is eleven, that they keep house, and provide the cloth- 
ing." These were all commonplace remarks, but full of sin- 
cerity, — like Nature, enthusiastically bearing care and trouble. 



GUXDERODE. 



297 



Formerly he was only teacher of mathematics, teaching the 
students at Giessen and Marburg, only returning to his fam- 
ily in the vacations. He had two sons and one daughter 
married ; his daughter died after burying her husband, whom 
she was very fond of, leaving those five children. Old 
Ephraim could take up no other means of support than the 
one he had been accustomed to from his youth, — which is his 
passion, and in the pursuit of which he has drowned much 
grief, as he says ; therefore, in his vacations he passed through 
all the towns on his route, to barter second-hand clothes, as 
his means did not suffice to clothe his grandchildren new. 
By and by, his trade increased ; old wedding-dresses from 
the last century, old-fashioned laces the merchants could not 
get rid of, he trades off into Poland, and this time it brought 
him to Leipzig, where he has done a very good business. 
Dost thou see, I have quite a business-like style of writing. 
I would like to enter into partnership with the old man, and 
help him take care of his grandchildren, but as that is 
fraught with some difficulty, I only take lessons in mathemat- 
ics of him, which I briefly arranged thus : Wilt thou come 
to me twice a week, for I want to learn mathematics too? 
He laughed, and would not believe it ; but I brought him my 
mathematical books, which Christian had left me, and what I 
had written; this pleased him very much; Christian had 
dictated nearly all of it, and he is the most intelligent fellow 
in the world. I have already taken three lesson-, success- 
fully finishing the tasks he set ; for I stand in awe of the old 
man, and would not on any account like to give him the 
idea that I am the erratic sprite others make me out to 
be ; I don't care for them, but I do for him, because in his 
calmness he never doubts my sincerity, and because he has 
such a deep love for the science that he cannot regard those 
who do not sympathize. Say what thou wilt, thou must yet 
acknowledge that if, under this oppression, these most de- 
grading outward conditions, the nobility of the mind asserts 
itself freely and irreproachably, not even feeling itself bowed 
by the lowest occupation, it proves an elevated soul, that lias 
a greater claim to our solemn respect, because according to 
outward circumstances it is all the more exposed to miscon- 
ception and contempt. When he left, he called me his dear 
child, and placed his hand upon my head; I stood quite still 
as he stroked my cheek, and said, " Ja so" — which means. 



298 



GUNDERODE. 



with him, thou hast a human germ in thee. He comes be- 
tween three and five, so that it begins to be dark when he 
goes. I took him through the garden, and showed him the 
tower from which I overlook the land. No one can get up 
there, said I, for the ladder is broken ; — then I told him my 
experiences in thorough-bass, and he said it was because I 
could not overlook everything at once that my understand- 
ing comes to an end. Many things which some men puz- 
zled over all their lives must be compassed by others at a 
glance, or else time and trouble would be lost. I told him I 
was afraid that would be my fate too. " I have never in my 
life," said he, " seen a little acorn that was afraid of not be- 
coming an oak ; " and at the same time he placed his hand 
upon my head, cheerfully adding, u Now that we have placed 
the acorn in the ground, and covered it up, we will let it 
quietly lie and see what rain and sun will do." Thou canst 
not think how dreamy the man makes me ; I dare not men- 
tion him to the others, as thou mayst well think, because they 
will only interpret my reverence as frenzy. Patriarchal dig- 
nity beams on me from him, and I speak defiance to the 
whole world, that it cannot find a place among its trash for 
such elevated, sacred characters. I always go by aristocra- 
cy, and this the man has. Do look at the bearing of some 
in human society ; does not their painfully acquired rank rob 
them of their wits to such a degree, that they believe only to 
do themselves justice by folly. Wise no one can be who 
sacrifices a higher conviction to folly ; for all reason seems but 
at the mercy of superstition, if everything is not sacrificed to 
holy Wisdom ; I mean, if all outward advantages, dignities, 
and fame are as nothing to the inner call of the Divine. I 
am yet young, and may live to have Fate question me ; — at 
such times I may think of the old peddling Jew, Ephraim. 
Oh, for shame ! Who would regulate their social relations 
according to outward rank, boasting with the fetters preju- 
dice places upon us. The only pride I have is to be free 
from them ; and whoever seeks advantages anywhere, except 
in the sacred conviction of his conscience, is not my compan- 
ion. But the Jew gives me no offence ; he is free from all 
this. Adieu. bettine. 

I will add one thing more : every event shall forward thy 
spiritual life ; regard my acquaintance with the Jew in this 
light. 



GIINDERODE. 



299 



TO GUNDERODE. 

A mathematical parallel of the Jew?s : Inspiration is a 
realm of existence of which, although ruled out of reality, 
we feel the truth. — How could this realm not be a true one, 
as the mind leaves reality ; for where shall the mind live but 
in inspiration, as it only then lives when inspired. — From 
these conclusions he now explained to me what he desired 
me to comprehend, — and I took his hand and said: Ah, 
Ephraim, I know now who you are, you are Socrates. — "I 
am not exactly Socrates, but he is part of my religion." — 
Indeed, have you studied him ? — "I might rather ask how 
so youn£ a child came to know about him." s — I read parts 
of it to Giinderode, but was inattentive and merely remember 
that he draws just such conclusions as you do. — u Who is 
Giinderode ? " — My friend, whom I tell all about you, and how 
you have caught me in a net, so that I must learn, you being 
the only person of whom I stand in awe. " If that were so," 
said he, u I would be still severer." Ah no ! — do not tear 
the net, it is delicately woven, leave the fish room to splash 
about a little. Now, it amuses him very much to chat with 
me, he went on : " That' is all very well, but we will not have 
become acquainted with each other in vain, and you shall 
sometimes follow the traces of Old Ephraim in your mind, 
when he will long since have passed away." Truly, I had 
at my tongue's end to tell him how inexpressibly I loved him, 
and that I cared more for his blessing than for all the rest of 
the world ; but I kept silent, why should one say such a thing 
as that, he sees it, and must feel it to be true in his heart. I 
ask him everything that enters my head, and it seems im- 
possible that his mind should not make everything clear and 
comprehensible to him ; I only hesitate to tell how much 
faith I have in him. Yesterday, as we spoke of Napoleon, I 
said, With you I would win battles ! I have often thought, 
if I were a general, and everything depended on my presence 
of mind, all responsibility resting upon me, if I would not 
hesitate between inspiration and fear ; but had I you at my 
side, I would be sure of rfly decision. u Why ? — do you 
think I have so much courage? I have never proved it. per- 
haps I have not yet had an opportunity to test it, for I he way 
of the Jew lies between the thistles and thorns with which 
the Christian bars his way, and he must be careful not to 



300 



GTJNDERODE. 



rouse the hounds that pursue him even into the thorns, so 
that he cannot go backwards or forwards, often ending in the 
agony of his exertions, and what is still sadder, can no more 
find Lis God in his heart." Here he folded his hands and 
changed color ; he has a delicately organized soul ; I was 
moved and said, — I did not think of your courage when I 
spoke, but it seemed that to look into your face would collect 
my scattered senses, and make my decision firm as a pillar, 
because I never would want to stand abashed before you ; 
then I feel that you would grow T in danger, you would be- 
come potent w T here mind was required because evil passions 
are unknown to you, so that they would not keep your mind 
from being calm ; as I firmly believe that presence of mind 
is only owing to absence of passion, by which one is gener- 
ally upset. You are perfectly collected, having your object 
in view, you stand above the prejudices of life ; advanced in 
years, you are firm and serious, not yet wearied by severe 
trials. You never complain, but are satisfied with life as 
God gave it ; that is wisdom, I think. " And yet Ephraim is 
nothing but a peddling Jew," said he. Yes, but you have 
made your life a temple, and are high-priest in it. The con- 
versation was carried still further, the last of it I w T rote down 
for thee. 

" That the body is spiritual in itself — has a soul, we rec- 
ognize by the sacred consciousness of thought. A thinker, 
one who is intellectually active, has a consecrated body." 

This was the last of our conversation, what lay between I 
do not remember; — but on the tower, in the clear winter- 
night, the stars went on chatting with me : — 

" In love, the first thing we consecrate is the body ; this is 
the root and germ of love, — without this consecration love 
cannot exist, it fades like a broken flower ; but by this con- 
secration with it, love must exist ; all recognition of the 
sublime begins with this consecration ; w r hen the spirit 
divinely receives, the body is sanctified." 

" Each approach of the mind seeks the seat of the mind 
within, this thou perceivest, surrounded by the body ; as the 
hall of the temple is consecrafed where thou knowest thy 
sacrificial flame will rise within." 

" The temple represents our body, and the teachings of 
God our own soul. To understand the soul of another, as 
it understood itself when active, makes the soul fruitful." 



Gf XDEKODE. 



301 



Understanding is direct contact of souls, it is becoming 
alive, producing a self-dependent life, everything- else is not 
understanding, but the least germ of self-dependence in the 
breast is revelation." 

" Therefore, by true understanding the soul is fructified." 

" Fear not that thy love will be lost ; spirits will bear it 
where its influence is needed, where it begets, penetrates 
into the life of the mind. It is love's sole need to be re- 
ceived, and what is not capable of receiving it is not an 
object worthy of love ; therefore do not fear that thy love 
will not find an aim. for all true life has an aim." 

" If then thou hast a living, generous love, it will not miss 
its goal, it lies within it. as breath does in the bosom." 

u All action, that is not generous, is false, is a life of pre- 
tence, all which is not soul is a lie. By generosity a false 
life must be changed into a true.'' 

<; What is generosity ? — Soul ! — thinking, acting, and 
feeling at the same time. Generosity must develop from the 
inmost soul. Soul compasses everything, every emotion 
flows from it ; the more soul thou pourest forth, the more 
will stream back to thee." 

" Generosity, one may say is a sensuous stream poured 
forth bv the soul : evervthino- that checks generosity is soul- 
less." 

These are some fragments of my conversation with the 
Jew. Am I not happy, Gunderode, that God sent such an 
one to my door, from a despised race, only to make his high 
mind shine the brighter ? — who gives my languishing heart 
to drink from the source it could not find, for truly this man 
gives me princely gifts, and I cannot requite him, and I think 
I am as dear to him as one of his grandchildren for whom 
he cares with heart and soul. 1 liked him the first time I 
saw him ; he attracted me, and I chatted cheerfully with him 
as I wanted to be kind, well knowing that no one is pleasant 
towards such people, and they are often scoffed at. But 
now 1 think, every time I see him, how far he is above me, 
how kind and benign he is, yet treating me as the master 
does his pupil, so that I am conscious of his superiority every 
moment. While we speak together, he always writes propo- 
sitions into my mathematical book, showing me how to solve 
them. By this means our conversation is divided by regular 
pauses, and we carry it on slowly and solemnly, which in- 
creases my enjoyment of it. 



\ 



302 GUNDERODE. 

When I come down to Savigny, I am generally merry 
beyond bounds with secret glee at having such an amiable 
master, whom I love with all my heart, and would run 
through fire for him — for thee too. I always envied the 
students when I thought they stood in such a relation to their 
professor, proud of being his scholars, and conducting them- 
selves to please him, that is, devote themselves to him with 
all the ardor of youthful enthusiasm. Nothing in the world 
seems more splendid to me than this. If I were a wise mas- 
ter, and the students cheered me heartily as they marched 
past by torchlight, I should value it more than all other 
distinctions. Ephraim has a character that would awe and 
attract them, if he were to instruct them ; philosopher as he 
is, his scholars must become passionately attached to him. 
He says his scholars love him too, but that prejudice stood 
like an insurmountable barrier between them. The Sa- 
vignys ask me frequently, " Was thy old mathematician with 
thee, and hast thou been studying Hebrew wisdom ? — Art 
thou wiser again to-day than the rest of mankind ? Has thy 
old Jew initiated thee ? " I say yes, and laugh with them, 
rejoicing that I alone know all about him. I will tell thee 
something. — - 1 read the " Manes " to him and asked him for 
an explanation of some things; he wrote in pencil underneath 
it, " Thou shouldst call spirits and they would not answer thy 
call ! Never believe it." 

Evenings when I go to my tower on the days he has been 
with me, the thoughts that come from the stars coincide with 
his words, so that I sometimes think they must have suggested 
them. Such thoughts as I am pleased with I write down in 
a book, and select the best to write to thee ; the day before 
when I came from the tower, it was late and I was tired, and 
I wrote down hurriedly, without considering, what yet floated 
in my mind from above : " The reason why the Divine will 
often not abide in us, is, because we become wicked in com- 
bating wrong ; we become malicious in the persecution of 
wrong." 

44 God did not expel Adam from Paradise, Adam escaped 
of his own accord. How would it have been possible for an 
angel to have driven a God-created being from Paradise ? 
All which is divine, rises ; what cannot rise with it, sinks." 

44 Whence could the divine rise, but from the ungodly ? 
How would the divine separate itself from the ungodly ? 
No, it is even its inherent divine nature not to separate from 



GUXD ERODE. 



303 



it ; it unites with it, leading it to the Divine ; only irrever- 
ence separates from the Divine, death only separates it, and 
much is like death by which men seek to separate themselves 
from the ungodly, in order to gain eternal salvation." 

" Freedom must become the slave of the slave ; she must 
conquer the mind of the slave, else how could she be Free- 
dom ? How can Freedom express itself but by being bound 
and subjugated by the divine impulse of elevating the un- 
godly to the godlike ? Who is strong enough to wear the 
chains if not Freedom ? and what can invigorate the lan- 
guishing senses, but life itself? " 

" One argues indeed, the divine will not unite with the 
ungodly, but it must unite with everything, because only in 
eternal change the divine consists." 

All this I learnt on the tower, and then I thought : — 

" If thy soul should meet what it loves, then show thyself in 
the raiment of Inspiration, else it will not recognize thee. 

" That the beloved meet thee in spirit can only be through 
Inspiration, and only by Inspiration canst thou speak to 
him." 

After I had accompanied Ephraim, I went up into my 
tower, although it is of no use as long as the stars arc not in 
the sky ; but I felt so well in the open air, that I did not care 
to return to the house. Dost thou feel that happiness too, 
only because thou breathest ; when out of doors thou seest 
the unbounded ether above thee — that thou drinkest it, art 
related to it so nearly that all life flows to thee from it ? Ah ! 
why do we seek yet another object to love ? cradled, incited, 
nourished, inspired by life, sometimes in its lap, sometimes 
borne on its pinions, is that not love? — is not our whole 
life love ? — and thou seekest for something to love besides ? 
Do then love in return the life by which thou art penetrated, 
that ever powerfully attracts and from which all ecstasy 
streams to thee ; why must it be this, or "that, to which thou 
wilt yield thyself up ? receive everything thou lovest as a 
tenderness, as a caress of life itself, cling with inspiration to 
the Life whose love makes thee spiritual; because, that thou 
livest is for Life's ardent love of thee. It alone bears within 
it the object of love, it spiritualizes the living, the beloved. 
All creatures live by love, by Life itself. 

Such a thought, Gunderode, one might ask if it were not 
imagination. But I don't care if they will not believe it ; it 



304 



GUND ERODE. 



suffices for me, and I don't need confirmation from them. 
To recognize a higher truth is to understand life ; in this 
way we feel that great deeds are the sublimest moments of 
our lives, thus, really, an ardent embrace with Life itself, 
heavenly moments from which we win the certainty of love. 
Indeed, a great deed is the consecration of Life and Love. 
Are men not intoxicated with the love of life when they do a 
great action, as the lover is intoxicated by pleasure by the 
certainty of being loved? Are these not the raptures un- 
known to those who have not the courage lovingly to yield 
to the holy devotion of life, but stealthily creep past a noble 
act ? What, indeed, is the inner enjoyment of those happy 
ones, but to be drunk with inspiration, which is the return of 
their affections ; for to be pure and great in our inmost con- 
sciousness, is to be penetrated by Life. 

It is said, each great deed brings its own reward ; or, he 
carries his own reward in his bosom ; therefore no one can 
be fathomed in whose bosom the eternal devotion of Life, to 
the living, produces this reward. It is this solitary, deep- 
hidden, unwitnessed moment of joy, no one can feel after 
him, that every truly loving one hides ; it lifts him beyond 
earthly fate and also places him above that which is ac- 
knowledged by the world, which stamps him with the Sublime. 

Yes, great deeds, the passionate kisses of Life, leave a 
visible impression behind them, which I admit may be trans- 
mitted to children and grandchildren ; else where should no- 
bility come from ? did it not spring from that sacred moment 
in which Life won its beloved through its love, this secret 
inner enjoyment of a rapture unknown to others, in which 
we yield up everything to be all in all to the beloved, to 
Life. I think this must mark one's appearance, express 
itself through the body, and it might lead us to trace in the 
lineaments of an ancient race what laid the germ to these en- 
nobled traits, if a daring deed, bravery, or even self-denial 
once claimed a love-sacrifice from our ancestors. Arnim's 
face already suggested this ; and a man filled with a divine 
passion for Life is the founder of the noblest line ; he is a 
prince among men, even if he walked in rags among them. 
They who do not reverence this nobility are the rabble, who 
are not fit for nobility ; and because they mistake their own 
origin, cannot produce it in themselves, be it prince or vassal. 
— This was my talk with the stars to-day. 



GUND ERODE. 



305 



Tuesday. 

To-day is the seventh day since my first letter was sent 
off ; Saturday the second went, and to-day — shall I close and 
send thee this ? I sometimes fear it is too much for thee, 
but that cannot be, for I have promised to write thee every- 
thing I hear up here ; thou hast frequently urged me to do 
it, and how can I help it, if so much comes into my head, or 
rather into my pen, for if I think I have finished one line, I 
can hardly get it on to paper, so many hundred others crowd 
between. Thus, yesterday I thought how foolish it would be 
to stop to think of one's own life, and believe far behind us 
what is not the beginning of life, only the reason, the cause 
of it. 

At the coronation of the German Emperor, when they go 
from the Dom to the Romer on a breadth of scarlet cloth, 
the populace behind him seize the cloth from under his steps, 
cut it off, and divide it in fragments among themselves, so 
that when he reaches the Romer nothing of the crimson 
cloth is to be seen. Thus the entrance into life seems to me 
like the scarlet path of the Emperor, each step erased, not 
existing, till life demands every moment of thee, so that not 
one is thine, and thou art entirely lost in life ; from that time 
canst thou count the beginning of life, and the desire to die 
will cease of itself. 

All life in contact with thine depends on thee ; thou hast 
no more a separate life ; real life is an overflowing which 
will not be checked. How astonished I was when I heard 
thee say, " Learn much, and die young." I thought I had 
sadly misspent my time, that I had grown so old without 
learning anything, and in consequence I would have to give 
up dying, or else leave off learning. 

But the imperial scarlet path ! I assure thee, all thou canst 
cut from thy life is only a prelude to it, which annuls itself' ; it 
is perhaps an ideal beginning, but wilt thou end thy life with 
that? That would be destroying the Emperor with the cloth. 
Still, thy life is nothing but a path of honor, created for thee 
by the ideal. I feel, indeed, how can we attain to the sub- 
lime but by joyfully yielding to all sacrifices life imposes 
upon us, that our desire for the ideal may change into life 
itself. How can we become individual, but through life ? 
Thus we must also be willing to bear old age, to take up the 
20 



306 



GrUNDERODE. 



whole burden of life, rejecting no part of it. If thou desirest 
to die early, holding it unworthy to go on, dost thou not 
thereby reproach him who does not end his life? Heroism 
is greater than humiliation. In this world of Philistines, who 
do not understand my mind, I am not ashamed to pass for 
old, for they know nothing of the bright spring-days which 
the spirit enjoys. Knowst thou what makes old age wicked ? 
When it has become a pile of towering prejudices, through 
which the sacred echoes of youth can penetrate no more. 
But when the soul pierces the accumulated misery of Philis- 
tinedom — this untruthful, yet real world of conceit — to the 
heavenly freedom in the clear ether, there to blossom, then 
age is but a vigorous sign of eternity. All those I meet 
seem as nothing, or at least like trifling, unreliable minds, 
because they have not the power in them to arrive at the 
flower of old age, — a blighted blossom. Ephraim seems to 
me a perfect spirit-blossom, now standing in the spring-rain, 
his days being warm, but overcast. It bears the foreboding 
of the heavenly charm of youth, neither felt nor needed by 
others ; but tell me when does a Philistine ever stop before 
the budding Times, awed in prayer for the awakening bud. 

What follows, then, from thy desire to die early ? To 
please whom dost thou wish it? For thy own sake? In 
that case thou countest the Emperor's scarlet path as the 
flower of thy youth, only because of its brilliant lustre ; but 
see, the world regards it not, tears it in fragments, and as 
thou approachest its end, not a trace is left of it ; therefore, 
wouldst thou destroy thyself with it ? The impulse to bloom 
does not become really spiritual until that false bloom has 
ceased to deceive thee ; when the flower is produced en- 
tirely from thyself, I will say, Indeed, thou hast the spirit of 
spring; but to renounce life in despair is not youthful spirit. 
I distinctly feel that I am more in the right than thou, and 
can defy thee ; but I also know that thou wilt see the higher 
spiritual truth in my simile more plainly, and have deeper 
forebodings than I can comprehend. Is it not always in our 
confidential talk that I stutter, and thou must afterward make 
more clear what I wanted to say ? Here I have the Jew in 
my mind, who, beyond the bloom of the parent, fulfils those 
difficult conditions, following that weary path after a subsist- 
ence for his grandchildren, unheeding himself, counting no 
day as his own ; returning to his family in the heat of the 



GUXD ERODE. 



307 



day. wearily stooping to gather the crumbs by. the way to 
bring to his orphan children. Formerly he followed the 
path of science, studied ancient languages, philosophy. — and 
now I does Fate throw him out of his path by imposing tasks 
upon him more nearly connected with real life? I think not. 
It seems to me to be the first sacred blossom of his rejuve- 
nated spirit : therefore he is peaceful and calm, thriving and 
budding in the young sunshine ; his soil, the air ; his will, 
his thoughts are filled with vital warmth ; what he says is 
like the vine, in which the sap of his future inspiration rises. 
I know nothing more of growing old. of fading, since I have 
seen this man. Each day heightens the blossom-inspiration. 
In my haste I can find no other expression, and every suc- 
ceeding one is fuller of life-impulses than the last. Be it as 
it may, it is a constant progress towards spring, and I believe 
our whole life has no other object. 

The stars have told me this for thee. bettixe. 

TO GUXDERODE. 

It is not long since I received thy letter, it is just a fort- 
night, and if I count the writing-day and the journey, it is 
sixteen or seventeen days. Thou art not mistress of thy 
time as 1 am, for I have nothing else to do but send all my 
life to thee ; I should not even care to think if I could not 
give it to thee, and it is only on thy account everything 
come- into my head. I know it is folly to. be eternally 
anxious. One thing I cannot endure ; when they write to 
me. M Giinderode sends her love," I had rather hear them 
say. - Giinderode is not to be seen." Sometimes it seems 
to me there is a cloud of mist between thee and me ; I be- 
lieve thee at my side and continue speaking to thee, but the 
mist is so dense that I do not see thee ; I call, but receive no 
answer. Then I begin to fear, and know not where to turn, 
and it seems as though all I have told thee were like straying 
away from thee, instead of its having bound me closer to thy 
side'; then I think thou hast left me, because I say so many 
things thy soul will not hear, by which it is disturbed. Ah ! 
thy soul, I have only been born to nutter around it. I do 
not feel as much at home on the tower as I did, for my first 
thought is always : wilt thou be pleased by what I think of 
up there ? — but I must go up, I am impelled. Mow the 
wind blows there, as if it would carry one away ! the cloud? 



308 



GUND ERODE. 



and the moon are chased past each other, each a different 
way — as if in discord ; I do not know what to say to it. 
The way up there frightens me more every day ; I had nearly 
become accustomed to it. and enjoyed going up, but now the 
thought of it fairly weighs me down. Sometimes I am so 
absent that I forget all about it, not thinking of it till late, 
when every shadow frightens me. But where shall I go ? I 
must get up there, because it seems as if I helped to hold the 
world. What a storm there was up there to-day ! an ash- 
tree grows on the wall, that had until now its red berries 
upon it; I took much pleasure in it,. and thought : it shall be 
a sign that all remains bright and cheerful between us, and 
the berries must stay on all winter ; so I tied them together 
that the wind might not carry them off so easily. However, 
there was no holding them, the tree was whirled about like a 
banner in a storm ; so I jumped upon the wall and threw 
both of my arms about it to protect ft, venturing the utmost 
to keep it firm, till the wind subsided, and would have clung 
to it till morning ; the berries showered down upon my head 
singly and in bunches, until the last one was gone, when I 
let go my hold. The wind soon subsided, and the skies be- 
came quiet and calm ; I sat there awhile, quietly wondering 
how just now I could have been so stormy, and why my 
heart could have throbbed so loudly, when formerly thou and 
I were so merry to be caught in a storm in the open field. 
But I do not want to tell thee all that comes into my mind 
and urges itself upon me, and for what causes my cheerful- 
ness is changed into melancholy that will not be dissipated. 

Often in summer when I heard a bird sing, I felt as though 
cheered by a joyous message; often when I saw the ripening 
corn shaken and broken by the wind, I lost myself in deep 
thoughts, considering how I could send a messenger to treat 
with the winds. Let us put my present superstition on this 
account too. It will pass away and I shall become quiet. 

Last Sunday, Bang preached here ; I promised him to 
attend, if he would speak a sermon on the Jews, how the 
Christians closed their unchristian hearts against them, so 
that the Jews perceive nothing of Christianity. 

Bang preached on the passage where Christ commands 
his disciples to divide the bread and fish they have among 
the multitude, without considering themselves. "And see ! 
suddenly there was a profusion for all. And if it is a 



GUND ERODE. 



309 



miracle, that baskets were filled with the remains, why will 
you not regard it as a divine miracle, that love flows from 
the hearts of all, touched by the electric love of the Son of 
God for all, that it may impart itself from neighbor to neigh- 
bor, making them willing rather to suffer themselves, than to 
see others suffer. It was the blessing resting on those few 
loaves, as each one shared his part with the other, that created 
abundance. If you do not count this a miracle, but, as a 
natural occurrence, hold it unworthy of a place among divine 
miracles, is it then not the more to be expected from those 
who called themselves his disciples that this natural occur- 
rence should arise to them from the Divine ? But as among 
you, who are followers of Christ, the contest is not for divine 
wisdom, but for daily bread ; it may be that the godly power 
of the miracle caused the loaves to multiply, or in the hearts 
of the Jews, making them disregard their bodily wants in 
their craving for the divine w r ord, and in the true Christian 
spirit that began to spring up among them, shared the bodily 
food amongst each other, ungrudgingly, we can still draw 
this lesson from it : Let your souls rely on divine Wisdom, 
and your earthly cares will be taken from you by a heavenly 
Power. Or : the earthly cares are alone born into the world, 
that you learn to overcome them for the sake of your brother, 
and mutually strive for the divine that will flow to each one 
as much as he can contain. God's blessings are showered 
over the land, and in brotherly love to share your earthly 
possessions, do you not hold that as a miracle in your 
heart- ? 

"Let your hearts be ready to practise brotherly love, and 
you may be sure that the miracle of divine wisdom will 
bloom within, pouring its abundant blessing over all equally, 
not over one because he is a Christian, or over another be- 
cause he is a Jew. For, as soon as we attempt to separate 
the blessing, be it earthly or heavenly, it dies within us, for 
its life is a common blessing. The world is to be governed 
by our inner sense; the outward rule affects Its formation 
only passingly or not at all, and can only retard the spiritual 
and real development; but the mind, penetrated by the 
higher government of the world, expand- and spreads, and 
cannot be checked, is begotten in every heart. May each 
one plant the seed of this sweet fruit into his own heart ; it is 
the spring of life, without it we will not reap and be power- 
less." 



310 



GUNDERODE. 



After service, Bang told me that no one had been attentive 
but me ; the whole congregation had slept. I wrote about this 
sermon in a letter to Voigt, because I had nothing better to 
say, and he replied : " The inner sense spreads about more 
than the rule of the world, because the winged seed of the 
mind will not be held captive, the wind carries it about, and 
our precautions are all made naught by the currents of our spir- 
itual nature. Therefore, the trouble men take to hold every- 
thing in check is ludicrous, — as well as the attempt to attain 
freedom by anything but mind. Freedom is the severest check, 
for it steps in where neither law nor license take effect, crush- 
ing the evil at its birth. Freedom is a divine Power that 
can only do good, but men do not understand what it is ; they 
would seize and stifle it. We cannot seize upon Freedom ; it 
must appear to us as sublime ; it is the law by which the mind 
constructs itself. Bondage within and freedom without are 
doubly heavy chains, because the intoxication arises that 
binds and confuses the senses." This is about the substance 
of a letter of ten pages, very illegibly written. I would not 
send thee the letter, because I feared it might try thy eyes 
to read it. He says many kind and pretty things about thy 
" Frank in Egypt." " I am the Frank, but will never find 
the maiden to lead me to her father's hut ; for that which 
fills my soul is not written with letters of beauty on my face, 
and my Frankish nose is not surrounded by a handsome pro- 
file." I can read the letter to thee sometime when my own 
horn of plenty is exhausted ; — but when will that ever be ? 
My heart is so full before thee ; I only spoke of others to-day 
instead of my own soul, because I did not want to pain thee 
by my complainings. But on the tower I can heave my 
sighs, and my thoughts are like torn boughs and scattered 
leaves, whirled by the wind ; I can catch nothing of it, and 
what is, falls upon me, dissolves, leaving no sibylline signs. 
Indeed, I will not complain ; I know it is all imagination ; 
thou art only silent because thou art lost in thought, as thou 
wert already last fall. 

Wilt thou not see Voigt sometimes ? he is so good, 
and would write to me about thee. Thou wilt find him 
cheerful and modest ; he has so much to tell about his early 
youth that is beautiful, and his life is nothing but music and 
painting. It is like looking about in the world with a cheer- 
ful mind, and meeting an open glance that invites us to relate 



GrUND ERODE. 



311 



what passes within us, to make his acquaintance. I will 
readily believe that he has written badly, but that does not 
injure him in my eyes ; it was probably the herd of possessed 
swine that rushed into the ocean. And as it usually happens 
to good men, when they have produced something bad. that 
they feel inexpressibly relieved when they are rid of it : so he, 
too. is unusually cheerful. I made his acquaintance when 
he was introduced at Frankfort as School Commissioner, and 
he always refreshed me by his witty humor. There was, for 
me at least, so much of striking truth in his remarks, that I 
believe he would have been able to advise and effect the very 
best measures. On one occasion he said to me, " I am a 
mere infant, whose hands are held down br his swaddling 
clothes ; and I can only make grimaces, and people think I 
laugh and weep in my dreams, and will never believe that I 
am present with my five senses when I say anything." If it 
is not disagreeable to thee to have him call, I will send him 
a letter to thee. 

About Holderlin I have heard much, but it is all sad, and 
I do not care to tell thee now, because neither of us could 
think of anything new about it ; in my heart I find written : 
Strew the seed of tears upon his memory, perhaps from them 
immortality will bloom for him anew ! He, too, has said. 
" He who strives with all his soul never errs." Indeed, if 
any one were to give their whole soul to it, they could raise 
the dead; therefore I will collect myself and think of thee, 
and thus keep thee awake that thou canst not die. But I 
will not close my letter so sadly. A letter I have recently 
seen of Goethe's thou wilt also take pleasure in ; it was writ- 
ten to Jacobi in 1800. " Since there has been no direct 
communication between us," he writes, " I have enjoyed many 
advantages of intellectual improvement ; formerly my decided 
hatred against transcendentalism, hypocrisy, and presump- 
tion, often made me unjust towards the ideal good in men, 
which in practical experience cannot well show itself. About 
this, as about many other things, we are taught by time, and 
we learn that true appreciation cannot be gained without 
forbearance." 

Much as I have always longed to see him alone and se- 
cretly, the wish has now left me ; I do not want to go to him 
at all without leading thee by the hand, only to show thee 
the way, and only to gain thanks from him and thee ; for 



312 



(HJNDERODE. 



what he says in that letter entitles you to mutual claims on 
one another. How joyfully surprised he would be at the 
ideal in thy breast, as thou hast expressed it in that letter, 
when it appeared to thee as vividly as if thou couldst look 
beyond to thy immortality. But with what could I meet 
him ? I have no prerogatives ; nothing but the secret worth 
of not being forsaken by thee, and gazed upon by thy spirit- 
ual eyes, that charm thoughts into me which T never would 
have dreamed of, had I not read them in thy soul. 

Last night, young and old presented gifts to each other ; 
the empty Christmas-trees fell to my share. I asked for 
them, and planted them before my door ; so now there is an 
avenue from the stairs across the broad hall to my door. 
These green firs so near my door make me happy ; and the 
world outside is so great ! and the desire rises in my heart 
to travel — with thee ! — were that impossible ! Am I, then, 
under such restrictions that I cannot have my way in this ? 
Wilt thou, too, not avoid the misery of those who died with- 
out having seen Jupiter Olympus? I feel that all my long- 
ing would be soothed, if I could overlook the country from 
the highest mountain in the land ; for whatever the eye can 
compass, of that the great of heart feels himself master. O 
Giind erode ! I do not know if thou hast ever felt it, but at 
present the sense of sight is active above the others ; I would 
see, only see ! How magnificent is the power to govern 
everything with the eye, to contain everything in ourselves 
capable of producing the sublime ; how the spirits would 
circle about us in lonely spots. Then, too, we know each 
other, and would be so familiar that no communication were 
necessary ; thoughts would fiy in and out, in the one as well 
as the other ; what thou seest is also in thee, for I have not 
closed myself against thee. Indeed, thou lookest deeper into 
my breast, knowest more of my spiritual fate, than I, because 
I need only read in thy soul to find myself. 

And how joyfully have I not allowed myself to be drawn 
into thy circle? and, protected by thy spirit, I have ventured 
to think and maintain the impossible ; nothing was too rash, 
and everywhere I felt the thread of thy wise understanding 
leading me through the labyrinth. I would possess every- 
thing, wealth and power of beautiful ideas, art and science, 
only to give it to thee, to gratify my love to thee and my 
pride in thy love. This friendship, this existence with thee, 



GUXDEEODE. 



313 



can thrive but once. I feel, at least, that no one can rival 
with me in love ; that is why my generosity conquers. I do 
nor want to burden any one with blame, for which he would 
always have to repent. 

My letter is distractedly written, because I seek thee. At 
other times thou standest before me when I write, and I 
speak to thee : half the letter is my thoughts and the other 
half thy an-wers. for I always know what thou wilt answer 
when I speak. In this way I constantly learn from thee the 
deep, the wise, the confirming. 

The mail closes, but I will leave my letter ; perhaps I 
shall hear from thee, then I will directly ask pardon for my 
complaints. I wish a letter would come. Xo. I have re- 
ceived none. 

I am angry, but not at thee, at myself. Whence comes 
this disease? for disease it is, that has long been gathering 
in me ; it seems to me as though I knew nothing about thee, 
I am so despairing. Was I so anxious last year? There 
were times then, too. in which thou didst not write. Thou 
hast spoiled me by thy little letters from the Rheingau. I 
know the great calms in which thou art sometimes so silently 
lost, that I could be with thee for hours without thy speak- 
ing : perhaps it is so now, — 'tis the echo of thy silent inspi- 
ration, or the deep melodies of thy soul are repeating, and 
thou art listening. Just as it was in that glorious, enchanted 
night on the Rhine, as we sat beneath the blossoming orange- 
ry on the deck. How splendid it was that it happened to be 
brought from Cologne to Mayence, and that we two were the 
only ones who spent the night up there, the others being 
afraid of the night-air, which was very fortunate. We were 
delighted when the last had ^one below, and we were left 
alone with only the helmsman, the oars, and the great still- 
ness. I threw my fur around thee, sat down at thy feet, and 
covered myself with it too ; how lovely was the moonlight 
night, not a cloud in the sky, in the boundless ocean of air, 
in which the moon alone floated. There thou wert so silent 
too ; and when I said a word, it was directly lost in the deep 
stillness, so that I dared not speak again out of reverence for 
the deep silence enveloping nature. And who can ever for- 
get it that has floated down the Rhine in such a clear night, 
with both shores bathed in moonlight ? Then came the wind, 
rustling softly in the leaves, then louder, till blossoms fell 



314 



GUND ERODE. 



upon thee and me ; I looked up at thee, and found thee 
smiling at the beauty of what happened to us, but we kept 
still in order not to disturb the beauty unfolding round about 
us. We sailed past the silent islands, and, coming nearer the 
shore, the willow-branches caught in our trees, shaking them 
so that all the blossoms over thee showered down. Thou wert 
awakened with a start, for thou hadst dropped asleep — just 
for a moment. Ah, yes, I too like to sleep where I feel hap- 
piest ; then rest is always over me as though ecstasy were 
only a cradle swaying my soul back and forth from one dream 
into another, fairer and fairer. I thought then that it w r as a 
heavenly feeling within me, and prayed it out before God ; 
I desired no more happiness from the wealth of the world 
than was given to both of us then ; and I felt strengthened 
and bound more faithfully to thee. I made a vow to arm 
my soul, and many bold contests hurried by, that I had de- 
cided in my mind, and for a moment I was hot with a quick 
resolve of life and inspiration. This caused me to under- 
stand what thou sayst in thy letter about a simple phenome- 
non, of tragic moments passing through the soul, that catch a 
picture of our life, where circumstances are so combined that 
we live through the most painful and the most sublime in 
our own minds. My feelings were not tragic, but glorious, 
jubilant ; I was victor everywhere ; like an eagle that rises 
without the ballast of earthly fates, only to soar, so I too fell 
asleep for a few moments, over my vows, as though sleep 
were the confirmation of all spiritual elevation. Or is it, 
perhaps, in slumbers that the soul rises to its vows. 

When I awoke from that short sleep, it seemed as though 
I had run into the port of my life, and I needed no more to 
seek strange paths. I would always remain devoted to thee, and 
all happiness by which we were met should only be thine, I 
would only enjoy it through thee. That was why we parted 
so easily and cheerfully next morning ; I got into the car- 
riage that awaited me on shore to take me to Frankfort, and 
thou remainedst on board the boat ; I had not even given 
thee my hand, but only called to thee " Adieu, Giinderode," 
and thou spokest my name, but it seemed as if the world 
could not separate us. When I had driven on for a while, 
and yet saw thy boat with its southern garden in the dis- 
tance, T suddenly recollected that I had not given thee my 
hand and kissed thee, and that I had not received thy accus- 



GrTJND ERODE. 



315 



tomed kiss on ray forehead, which thou always.gavest me, 
each evening when I left thee. I felt so troubled about it 
that I would have turned back, if I had dared. And now 
too. when I think of thee, and receive no letters. I become 
anxious. Yet it is a sure sign, a feeling of confidence, that 
we are not separated : and if that lovely ideal night was the 
last we have spent together, the Genius will unite us again, 
and lead us through tropical lands where there is no longing, 
and where the morning will not bring the pain of parting, 
for then we will part no more. Only now I look upon the 
snow-covered fields, winter seeming so dead to me while an 
Italian summer-heat swells my heart. 

Yes. we will go away, Gtinderode, we two together; that 
heavenly night beneath southern flowers was a call of Fate, 
it called us to the Land of my longing, for which I have 
wept through many a night with Mignon. The first thing 
we will do, when we meet again, will be to form a ripe and 
decided plan. It is ridiculous in the end to reach and enjoy 
all the delights we hear spoken of only mentally, while in 
reality we are ice-bound. I am curious to see if we cannot 
accomplish it in this pasteboard world ; just because it is 
made of pasteboard. 

Here I remember a childish dream. I was travelling down 
a river of bricks, in which the rowers vainly tried to dip their 
oars, and only with their boat-hooks they moved us slowly 
along, which gave a disagreeable crackling, squeaking sound 
that set my teeth on edge. Oh, and my travelling compan- 
ions did make such terrible faces ! There I saw in nature, 
and unveiled, what a hideous living mask a Philistine has. 
The impulse of beauty seems to be the only thing left of a 
higher nature. 

On the Holiday I wanted Ephraim to visit me ; it was 
really my lesson-day, but being Holiday, I could chat the 
hour with him, for which I had a great desire. I made an 
arbor over his chair with my fir-trees, which I enjoyed very 
much, and offered him wine, when Professor Weiss came, 
who wanted to speak to him about two scholars ; he spoke 
with much respect to him, and of his great knowledge. I lis 
grandson called for him, and stayed a little while, but would 
not sit in the presence of his grandfather, and only sipped of 
the wine. I will confess that I spoke of nothing but thee the 
whole time ; I could not well speak of anything else, because 



316 



GUND ERODE. 



the expectation of a letter is ever uppermost in my mind. 
What else shall I tell about him ? — he has a peculiar manner, 
it seems like modesty, but one feels that it is condescension 
and kindness ; I would like to tell thee much more about 
him, but because I hear nothing of thee, my courage fails ; I 
do not even know if thou wilt read it with interest. He told 
me that between the Holidays and New Year he would make 
a trip home to his family, because all his scholars were ab- 
sent. It is a journey of forty miles — near Butzbach ; he 
will make it on foot, and in this weather ; there is a storming 
here of which thou hast no idea in the city ; from the avenue 
or the woods all kinds of brush is blown upon the tower, and 
yesterday I was obliged to sit down on the ground in order 
not to be blown away. 

I fear for Ephraim, or wish I could go with him, staff in 
hand, ever on into new lands, where other breezes blow, 
other trees bloom, — but I shall have to wait awhile for that, 
calmly talking with a wise man from the East. I am natu- 
rally very curious ; and when I enter a village, everything 
strikes me as singular, and on the little journeys I have yet 
made how strange things seemed to me ! When at dark we 
stopped at an inn, the dimly lighted entrance gleamed so 
strangely at me, as though it could speak, and would relate to 
me ; there must indeed all sorts of things pass here ; or a night 
spent in strange night-quarters, in a strange country, when 
we awake and hear the clocks strike, first one, then another. 
I think there are so many churches, how may they look ? 
The watchman too, who sings a strange song in a hoarse 
voice, and the bells in the houses one hears ringing ; and 
next morning everything looks different, and has a new and 
surprising aspect, as though the whole world were a toy- 
shop, — and the people who live and move the toys, the dogs 
that run about, the pumps from which the people fetch water, 
all seems put there for one's pleasure, like pictures, and we 
are pleased to see everything so charmingly arranged, and 
nothing forgotten. These strange places are like fairy tales, 
and I would enjoy them all with thee ; it would only be the 
prelude — but heaven and earth, in the open air, out into the 
distance — where we stand mute, seeing the mountains rise 
to kiss the dawn, and all the infinite passing before us, mak- 
ing us mute and wisdom superfluous. As the infant, when 
the milk streams to it from the mother's breast, must swallow 



GUN'DERODE. 



317 



rapidly to conquer the abundance, so it is in Nature ; she 
gives so plentifully to the eye, to the heart, thai we cannot 
stop for breath. I have Ephraim very much at heart, because 
now, when Nature sleeps and has troubled dreams, he should 
travel over rough roads, and, night setting in early, he must 
lodge in mean inns ; but he says he has missed one day on 
account of the weather already, and that his grandchildren 
are waiting for him, and would have great anxiety on his 
account ; he would be very well able to weather the storm, 
and his grandson carries the bundle. He must see the chil- 
dren, and it will not do to persuade him out of it ; he did not 
look troubled either. If 1 could do as I liked, I would have 
a comfortable carriage drive up to his door ; I have a great 
mind to do it, if it could be done secretly, but I am afraid they 
will cry out at my extravagance, and that I try to play the 
peculiar one ; and after all they would not have permitted it, 
because they must keep me from perverseness ; — excepting 
Clemens — he would have liked it. Now I shall have a week's 
longer care about thee and the old man. I am afraid of the 
tower, but I will and must get up. It happens to me for the 
third time, that I am compelled thus nightly and secretly to 
go to a spot appointed by the spirits. 

When I was a little child, my father preferred me to the 
other children. I could have been hardly two years old, 
when I was sent by my mother, if she had a request to make, 
with a billet to him, for they always wrote to each other, and 
she would say to me : u When papa reads the billet, ask him 
to write yes;" and often he would give an answer according 
to my request, saying, " Dear child, because thou askest it, I 
will say yes." 

All the children feared father, and, kind as he was, they all 
had a reverence that kept their boisterousness in check, and 
a serious look of father's would make them all avoid him. 
I liked dearly to play with him ; and when I knew that he 
sat alone on the sofa after dinner, I would steal up on tiptoe 
and creep into his dressing-gown on one side, and skilfully 
twine myself about his body, appearing again on the other ; 
I was very skilful in this manoeuvre, and, half asleep, he 
would give me all sorts of Italian pet-names, and then Bleep 
on. He was never vexed. 

When mother died, all the children were afraid of hi- sor- 
row, none of them ventured near him. Evenings, when lie 



318 



GUNDERODE. 



was alone in the hall where her picture hung, I would run 
to him and cover his mouth with my hand when he sighed 
too deeply and sadly. I well remember that I was fond of 
going to the Carmelite church, where no one went; it was 
always empty because it is so sombre, and there are so many 
dead' buried there ; father and mother lie there too, and many 
brothers and sisters. I never felt afraid in lonely places. 
How often, when the sun was shining, I went in there, where 
it was as damp and cold as on the dreariest autumn day ! — 
I tell thee about it to assure thee that I am not afraid of 
lonely places, nor of sad people ; so if thou hast anything to 
make thee sad, thou need not tell me of it, but do not shun 
me, for I can keep quite still. 

Yesterday I longed for evening all day, because I was so 
restless. Had I only a line from thee, about thee ! I have 
nothing but half thoughts that rise from the depth of my bo- 
som, but I dare test them. If thou wouldst only write me 
this, " Bettine, I love thee," it would suffice. 

Were I like the rock by the shore that urges the dashing, 
gushing stream of life into a quiet course, and each thought, 
each wave of thine rolled brightly by, I would not seek to 
check it. I will not say that I love thee, but would gladly 
sacrifice my life for thee, and know no one for whom I would 
do it but thee ; and if thou canst not give me thy confidence, I 
will not ask it. Every thought in thee is plainly written ; thou 
art all mind for me. What indeed hast thou said or done that 
I have not enjoyed with my whole soul, often recognizing 
in thee what I could not make clear in myself as it dawned ? 
Bold thoughts dashing for the first time over the narrow con- 
fines of life, leaving me amazed and astonished at mind — 
where did I read them ? They were written upon thy 
brow. How many conflicting voices hast thou separated in 
my breast and my wild thoughtlessness ? Gently thou hast 
curbed it, teaching me kindly, playfully. Through thee the 
meaning of the world has been opened to me, which I would 
never have reverenced, and always despised. Formerly I 
often thought : why w 7 as I born ? but after thou wert with 
me, I never asked again, I knew that life was an eternal 
development, and only sometimes I was overcome by a joy- 
ous impatience, a hurried expectation of the future, but no 
sadness ; indeed, since I know thee, I remember nothing that 
has pained me. I recall those days at Offenbach ; could life 



GUNDERODE. 



319 



burst more luxuriantly from the bosom of the earth than it 
did from me beneath thy warm, life-giving breath ? Oh, 
believe me! I was often drunk in mind when thoughts 
were bedded so gently beneath my gushing feelings ; often 
at dusk, when I looked over into the purple landscape from 
the roof, that I climbed, only to feel the life in my breast, 
that was so new to me ; there I felt nryself one with all I 
saw. Such waves of purple rolled through me, and I had a 
foreboding of the wealth within, all to be given me through 
thee ! Indeed I do not doubt there is a noble seed within 
me, taking root, which will restore me to myself. Thou hast 
placed it there ; courage, clear-sighted cheerfulness were its 
first blossoms, and each day it will put forth. new ones, like 
the tree in the midst of kindly Nature. I receive all fate 
like the wind and the rain, and can bear it, for thou hast 
made me strong ; and if now I should be torn from this soil, 
— oh, that cannot be ! it will never be true! No earthquake, 
to swallow the mountain whose top bears the tender stem 
blossoming and spreading far out into the distance, thriving, 
because it feels the grateful warmth of the sun, because all 
the echoes reach it from the surrounding hills, and it over- 
looks laughing Nature round about it, standing so high, so 
lonely and happy, all because it is planted in thy bosom. 

After I had written thus far, 1 went to bed, and forgot to 
go to the tower, which I had been impatiently waiting to do 
all day, and fell soundly asleep. Why, I must have been ill 
to write thus sadly to thee, quite against my will. But on 
awakening I recollected that it was the first time I had neg- 
lected the tower; I threw a cloak around me and was up 
there before I had time to consider if it were the spirit-hour; 
my haste was too great to have time for fear, and I only 
thought, if Midnight were past, I should have lost one day. 
No, I will not do that ; up there, in Nature's arms, I have 
placed thee in keeping of all good powers, the stars know 
about thee, and come what will, I shall not break my vows. 
I have told them about thee, and made them responsible. I 
am attached to them, and my feeling that they favor me, their 
consciousness of my ardent claims on life, 1 will not weaken 
by not solemnly regarding my promises. 

It was beautiful up there too ; the pure snow yet retained 
thy name clearly, written the day before. I sat down upon 
the wall, and hearkened to the stillness ; and here write 



320 



GTJNDERODE. 



down what dawned in my mind, as one constellation after 
another became bright. 

" I drink love, to become strong ; when I think, I am moved 
by a secret inspiration for my own elevation ; when I love, 
also. Only, when loving I feel as if supplicating in a 
temple ; when thinking, I am bold as a general. 

" To demand everything of one's self is the nearest and 
most direct approach to God. To the godlike the stars are 
a sure promise for the fulfilment of a higher Will ; the bold 
assurance that we may gratify our demands." — So counsel 
the stars. 

" Have good courage for everything, Giinderode, and at last 
no false impulse will crowd between, for the soul is pervaded 
by but one spirit, and active for that alone." 

This the stars told me for thee, when I questioned them 
about the deep life-secrets in thy bosom ; they want thee to 
lift thy shield freely and boldly above the heights of life. 
Everything is height, nothing depth. Thou shalt see them, 
that are so high, before whom nothing is abyss that is touched 
by their light. 

" There is a magic art, its chief foundation is the firm will 
of the mind to achieve the great, making the desire for it 
preponderate in the mind." 

Thou hast once told me this, and the stars admonish me 
to remind thee of it. 

" In view of the sublime, we must never have desires • of 
our own, else we defend ourselves against our own will." 

This was added by the stars, with the admonition to tell 
thee clearly and forcibly. 

I interpret this thus : Man shall not follow his own fate, 
because there is no fate for the soul but the divine, and in 
view of this all else must be rejected as trifling. 

The stars further say : " The inner man cannot appear to 
himself without Magic." — Oh ! the s*tars are kind, they say 
so much that is great, showing us how to be great our- 
selves. 

" The final aim of truth is to yield to higher truth, it is the 
charm by which the inner man is made to appear to himself ; 
it is development of the divine nature. Heaven is developed 
from longing, and from the infinite peace of Heaven deeper 
longing is developed. Truth issues from Truth, and goes 
beyond Truth. 



GUND ERODE. 



321 



"The utmost that Truth is capable of, is to dissolve into 
higher Truth ; — it says, no ! — negatives itself. " 

" The mind must never consider itself highest, but must 
place those it influences above itself, because they improve, 
develop it. 

" Truth and Love are slaves ; he is master whom they 
nourish. 

This the stars tell me when I speak to them of thee ; they 
love thee, they are thy slaves ; the sublime knowledge they 
flash down upon thee, develops their power to influence the 
human mind, to express the sublime, and if it meet thy ear, 
they will tell thee more. Oh, they told it to me for thee on 
New- Year's Night. The harvest of kindly admonitions was far 
richer, but I could not bear everything in mind. They said : 
Confide to them, and thou wilt experience, — rich sheaves I 
will bring home to thee. There thou seest what life is ; the 
stars sow seeds of knowledge into thy soul, and thou wouldst 
despair because thy feet are rooted to the ground. 

Yet, this is it ; thy soul has drank light and will sleep now ; 
lie down and rest ; I will watch that thou canst sleep and 
wake at the same time. Let us wait and see what the stars 
will finally do for us. Art thou not curious ? 

What messengers sent by God whisper to thee ? mayst 
thou not listen to them and forget all else over it ? 

Oh, listen ! When they had spoken thus, the stroke of mid- 
night rolled out upon the deep silence, confirming that though 
years glide into time, the Spirit blooms eternally fresh in the 
skies ; and that our inspiration flows ever towards this youth, 
rose up to me from the town below, where all were mirth- 
fully greeting rejuvenating Time. Why did they beat the 
drums and blow the trumpets from the steeples? — the trum- 
pets ! — and why did those rejoicings fill the air ? Why, be- 
cause eternally rejuvenating Time awakens all childlike voices 
of joy at its immortal youth. I was in raptures on that 
dizzy height to which the student-songs rose like an upheav- 
ing ocean, wrapping me in their rejoicings as in a cloud, and 
bearing me upwards. Oh, how beautiful is this world ! Just 
think, so many young voices in this little town, all full of joy ! 
Who would undertake anything in life to bow this untroubled 
youth to heavy inward responsibility ? No, indeed, if it were 
only for the sacred right of youth to exhaust the gushing 
fulness of its stream, I would not turn aside the ever 1111- 
21 



322 



GUNDERODE. 



troubled vitality in my bosom. See, young Giinderode, thy 
youth is that of to-day ; midnight has confirmed it ; the stars 
admonish and promise thee that thou shalt pour thy spirit 
into them, as they rise in jubilant choirs to sing their inspired 
songs down into the New Year. They salute thy century. 
That they are born to thy inspiration, makes the young hearts 
shout. Oh, do not leave thy dear ones, and me with them ; 
depend upon thy Genius, that he stand erect in thee, and 
proudly reign between spirit and soul. 

What could have made thee despair ? See how much life 
is wasted, seemingly only, because it rises again with allied 
powers and tries anew. But it must not be that thou tear 
thyself from their ranks, for all belong to each other ; and it 
must not make thee sad, that much which is prized as virtue 
are only glittering faults. Are faults not virtues just as 
often ? 

I do not want to send this letter ; I am inexcusable. Blame 
the weather in my breast for Jt. It is the time of storms 
within me, else what could rise so gloomily ? Storms rush 
over me, bowing down all blooming vigor, and clouds hang 
darkly above me ; my heart struggles and glows convulsively 
for breath. Why else should I have such dreary thoughts 
about thee? And is it not sad, only to-day I hear from 
Claudine that thou hast enjoined her to let me know thou art 
absent from Frankfort, and with thy sick sister. My -heart 
is like a gushing spring ; a few drops of oil will quiet it ; I 
was quite confused, and awoke as from an evil dream. 
Heaven be thanked that it is over. I am still cast down, and 
angrily see the dreams hover off across the gloomy day. 
They would have troubled me still longer. 

However thou mayst receive my letters, I will save thee 
the trouble of setting me to rights about them, by telling 
thee all I think of myself. I have written thee a series of 
letters, I do not know what about. Should I have rendered 
an account to myself as to their object ? did they render ac- 
count of my spiritual life ? is only a single one of my early 
resolutions mentioned in them? has not everything departed 
from me that I took upon myself with a sacred vow ? have I 
not promised thee and me to subject myself rigidly to the 
laws of an art, and have I not dallied again and again with 
everything I began ? What couldst thou do with me in the 
end ? I always acknowledged thee to be in the right ; in- 



GUXDERODE. 



323 



deed I daily repeated thy deep and true ideas, on the exer- 
tions of the mind to produce what yet lies unborn within it- 
Once thou saidst, •• From the longing of the mind to master 
arts and sciences, I understand how the fruitful earth longs 
for the seed it is able to nourish." And to me thou saidst, 
a Thy constant unrest, thy wandering and chasing after every- 
thing that would grow in thy mind, even thy opposition to it r 
proves that thy mind is fruitful throughout." Thou askedst 
but this one sacrifice of me, that I should devote myself to 
one thing entirely for a time, when all the rest would find 
room to ripen in consequence. " What is time, if not eternal 
cultivation of the faculties ? And is the trouble of acquiring 
not also its highest reward ? No exertion is in vain, for is 
not every exertion the highest exercise of our productive 
faculty in the end : and he who strengthens his mind by ex- 
ertion must become skilful in creating and reproducing lost 
faculties, not only in himself, but in all others." And much 
more thou saidst, which filled me with ardor to follow thee 
alone, and exact everything of myself; I told thee that from 
thee alone I received light on this life, that thy soul was a 
holy religion, and that I had a foreboding for what man was 
born, and that he shall ever be united with God, which 
means, always making sacred exertions to understand him. 
What indeed are art and science, if not the deep beginnings 
of a spiritual universe ? What is earthly life, if not the sen- 
suous soil from which a spiritual world is born ? Thou saidst. 
"Were we not angry, how could we become gentle? were 
there no lies, how could we become champions of truth ? " 
And because I did not understand thee,'" Had the world not 
resi-te l, how could Caesar have become a conqueror? " Sud- 
denly all was clear, and it made me so happy to owe my own 
self to my exertions, that I readily understood this to be the 
only divine Power to develop free minds from within as — 
gaining it from our own independent exertions. What is 
freedom, if not to be godlike ? To gain all we possess from 
our own exertions is the first condition of a divine nature. 

To these demands of thine I swore, as one swears to his 
standard ; certain of my inspiration, I was sure of faithfully 
caring for whatever the inner voice imposed, and am yet 
penetrated by this secret impulse to become divine. 

Even if 1 have left one thing for another a hundred times, 
I do not despair of beginning again. To thee I will go, in 



324 



GUNDERODE. 



thy lap I will learn ; I know it should be, that we are to- 
gether. If I cannot daily disclose my thoughts to thee, I am 
so easily carried away. This also I must tell thee about my- 
self, that often I do not know why T am suddenly carried 
away so far from what I had entirely turned to ; not by my 
consent, but I am then so filled and overcome by thoughts, 
that I must follow, and am so wearv when I return to that 
which I would learn and make myself master of. This is 
my sin ; I should reject it as a weakness. The soul should 
not be weary, but throw off its weariness. I know that in 
the Blieingau, during walks of four or five hours, I went 
newly strengthened on my way when I said to myself, I will 
not be tired. This influence the mind has over the body ; 
but the inner spirit that tames or awakens the mind has not 
power enough over it. Perhaps I deny it ; but not so thee. 
From thee it could speak to me. The evening of the last 
day has not yet set in. Consider all this as a prelude, as a 
rapid current of confused and erring faculties and feelings. 
Dost thou despair that the clouds will ever be dispelled in 
my mind, and Light beam down order into it ? I have con- 
fidence, and do not despair ; a constant impulse to receive, a 
rapid movement in my soul confirm it, and thou wilt not re- 
ject me ? Day will dawn again ! Eos steps from the misty 
atmosphere ! Writing has relieved me. I dream no more 
that the Thunderer will shatter my ship and bury it in the 
waves ; it would be irreverence towards him who on Hephses- 
tine wheels drives his steeds to the Ocean of the sun to bathe. 
No ! At thy side 1 lead forth the pure lambs on the strand 
to meet him ; and if thou belongest to him, I belong to thee. 

BETTINE. 

TO BETTINE. 

I was obliged to leave without being able to write to thee 




in detail : a sister of mine, who has been out of health for 
some time, desired me to come to her, which will probably 



/ prevent my doing it for some time. Do not think I neglect 
J thee, dear Bettine ; but the impossibilities to fulfil what I de- 
sire in my mind increase, and not knowing how to overcome 
them, I must allow myself to be carried on as accident wills ; 
resistance were only a waste of time, without result. Thou 
hast a far more energetic nature than I, indeed more so than 
almost any one I am capable of judging. Not by circum- 



GUNDERODE. 



325 



stances alone, but by nature also, narrower confines are 
drawn for my sphere of action ; it might therefore happen 
that something is possible for thee, which I would not find so 
for myself ; this thou also must consider in thy glimpses of 
the future. If thou wilt wander thy road of life with me, 
thou mayst perhaps feel induced to sacrifice all the wants of 
thy heart and soul to my hesitation, or rather to my inca- 
pacity, for I do not know how I could manage to follow thee ; 
wings have not grown for that purpose. I beg of thee to 
consider this in time, and to regard me as a being who must 
leave much untried to which thou art impelled. Even if 
thou wouldst resign many a claim thou hast on life, to cling 
to me, or rather not to allow the element that stirs within to 
penetrate thee, in order not to be weaned from me, it would 
only be vain. There are laws in the soul that assert their 
rights, or the whole man is ruined ; this thou wilt not be ; 
they will rise again and again, for in thee dwells the right of 
conquest, and thou art awakened to a quick and active life 
by what would perhaps sing me to sleep. When thou bold- 
est conference with the stars of heaven, boldly forcing them 
to answer, I would sooner yield to their gentle light than the 
child to the slumber-bringing motion of the cradle. Every 
one is opposed to thee ; thou wilt only understand and expe- 
rience the whole world by this contradiction ; there is no 
other possibility for thee to understand it. Where wilt thou 
ever meet an action, much less a mind to harmonize with 
thine ? It never has been, and never will be ; (of myself I 
will speak by and by.) What others conform to, taught by 
experience, strikes thee as the folly of lies. Reality has 
shown itself to thee a distorted monster; without filling thee 
with fear, thou didst place thy foot upon it directly ; al- 
though it writhes and moves under thee, thou art borne by it, 
without once giving up to the thought for a moment that 
thou couldst be one with it. I speak of to-day, and more vet 
of the future. I wish, for thy sake, moments might occur in 
thy life in which this confluence of powers were granted thee. 
Dost thou remember telling me thy dream that night on the 
Green-Castle, when I awoke thee because thou werf weeping 
so violently in thy sleep? A man who had accomplished, 1 
do not remember what great deed for the benefit of mankind, 
had for this very deed been dragged to the place of execu- 
tion, and the populace in their ignorance were rejoicing at it, 



326 



GUNDERODE. 



but in thee there was a great desire to get to him on the 
scaffold, but the stroke fell just as thou thoughtst thou eouldst 
reach him. Thou canst not have forgotten the dream ; thy 
painful sobbing touched me so that I hardly dared tell thee 
it was only a dream, because it was just this that made thee 
inconsolable. Not even in a dream, thou saidst, was it per- 
mitted thee to carry out what moved thy soul, and thou hadst 
far less confidence in reality. That night I jested in order 
to console thee, but to-day I feel inclined to recur to the 
question, if it were or w T ere not a loss not to have died with 
that hero. Yes, it was a loss ; for the awakening the con- 
tinuation of life after this test of thy deep inner capacities, 
that so rarely confirm and assert themselves in reality, must 
have been a triumph for thee, affording enjoyment even if it 
was only a dream ; for how often are our noblest convictions 
wrecked in dreams. I agree with thee, it was a trick played 
thee by thy demon, but a wise one ; because, had thy dream 
been fulfilled, perhaps thy longing to accomplish great* deeds 
would have been gratified too. And what w r ouldst thou have 
gained by it? — perhaps that negligent confidence in thyself 
that Savigny might call conceit ? No, not that perhaps ; 
but probably the tension would not have endured, that now, 
I'll be bound, will renew itself at the least impulse to that 
unfulfilled longing. 

I wish for thee, Bettine, (but this must remain between us, 
as no one must hear it,) that each deep-laid faculty of thine 
would be called into requisition by Fate, and no trial be 
spared thee ; that not in a dream, but in reality, the riddle 
may be gloriously solved why it was worth while to have lived. 
Plans are easily made, but for naught, therefore we must 
make none. The best way is to hold one's self in readiness 
for what may offer as worthy to be done, and the only thing 
we are bound to do is, never to violate the sacred principles 
that spontaneously grow from the soil of our convictions, but 
by our faith in them and our actions constantly to develop 
them more, so that in the end we cannot help professing that 
which is originally divine within us. There are many men, 
who have received great and sacred gifts from the gods, in- 
capable of making use of one of them ; who are satisfied to 
believe themselves above the level of vulgarity, only because 
they are impressed by the letter of a higher law. But their 
minds have never expanded, and they know not how far they 



GUNDERODE. 



327 



are from that nobility of soul upon which they pride themselves 
so much. This seems to me the principal discipline of life : 
to watch over ourselves, that the principles by which our 
minds are consecrated are never denied in word or act. 
From this training a noble human being is never dismissed 
but by the last breath of his life. Thy Ephraim will agree 
with me, and is a proof of what I say. I also believe that it 
is the greatest distinction conferred by Fate, to be impelled 
to higher and higher probations ; and I think we should be 
able to predict the fate of a man by his faculties. 

Thou hast the energy and courage for truthfulness, and at 
the same time so cheerful a nature as hardly to perceive the 
wrong done thee. It is easy for thee to suffer what others 
cannot endure, and' yet thou art not compassionate ; it is en- 
ergy that moves thee to help others. Were I to take thy 
character on the whole, I should prophesy that, wert thou a 
boy, thou wouldst become a hero; but being a girl, I look 
upon all thy faculties as for a future sphere of life, and take 
them as a preparation for a future energetic character, that 
will perhaps be born into a more active age. For the times 
seem to ebb and flow like the ocean. We are now in a time 
of ebb-tide, where it is unimportant who asserts himself, be- 
cause it is not yet time for the ocean of mind to rise ; the 
human race are holding their breath, and whatever important 
event is offered to history is only a preparation, an awaken- 
ing, a concentration and exercise of the faculties to compass 
a higher potency of the mind. Mind enhances this world ; 
through it alone life is life, through it alone event is joined to 
event; all else are passing shadows; each man who realizes 
an event in his time is a great man ; and startling as some of 
the events of the times are, I cannot count them among reali- 
ties, because they are not actuated by an impulse for deeper 
knowledge, or pure will to elevate the mind, only by passion 
and vulgar motives. Napoleon, for instance. But they are 
not without their advantages to the human mind. Prejudices 
must be gratified — satiated, as it were — before they desert 
the spirit of the Times. What prejudices may this universal 
hero not have shaken already? and which ones will lie not 
satisfy to repletion? and what will future rimes not tear up 
by the roots that they now blindly adhere to. Or can it he 
possible, after such a shocking, ghastly fate, the age should 
not be allowed to recover? I do not doubt that everything 



328 



GUNDERODE. 



comes to an end, and only what gives life, lives. I have told 
thee enough about this, and thou wilt understand me. And 
why should not every one begin his own career with solemn 
consecration, regarding himself as development, because our 
universal aim is the Divine, however and by whatever it may 
be advanced. 

I have now told thee enough to bring home to thee, that 
those higher faculties of the human mind must be the only 
object of thy inner contemplation, and that it must be quite 
indifferent in how far they are brought into action. Nothing 
in man remains untried that is to produce his higher ideal, 
nature ; for our Fate is the mother who bears the fruit of this 
Ideal under her heart. Take everything from these lines 
that refers to thy copious pages, and quiet thy anxiety about 
me with them. Farewell, and many thanks for thy lov e ; ^ 
thou canst also greet good Ephraim in my name, and write 
to me about him, and speak to him also about me. 

Thy sister Lullu asked me if thou wouldst go to Cassel 
with them for a few months. Do go ; an interruption of thy 
present life will be good for thee, although I should not at all 
times be in favor of it. Caroline. 

TO GUNDERODE. 

I have once more drawn a long breath ; thy letter has 
come. Canst thou guess what I have done ? — I lay down for 
three days to stretch myself and rest, as though I had com- 
pleted the most severe labor. I certainly never will be so 
again, but who can prevent the gathering storm. I will say 
nothing to thee about thy letter, only that I read thee there 
with secret awe. Perhaps it is yet the echo of a melan- 
choly, ] know not what it is ; I will not approach thy heart, 
I feel as though it desired to repose in itself. The whole 
letter seems to me like a settled account, — ah no! not that, 
— like an arrangement of affairs on sending me out into life, 
like an older brother to the younger ones — is it not so ? — but 
for how long? — It is thy wish that I should learn to think 
in order that I may also learn to advise myself ; therefore 
we will not speak of the letter ; I understand it all ; but 
either some things give me pain because I am still wounded, 
or I am not strong enough to perceive the divine voice speak- 
ing from thee ; I listen to thee with tears. I read the sound 
of thy voice from thy letters, it reaches my senses and 



GIJND ERODE. 



329 



nothing more. I am a sick child, weary from the exertion 
of its love, and now I must weep, that the anxiety, the 
despair is taken from me ! Stupid I am, and capricious ! 
My heart beat so violently when I got thy letter ; it was al- 
ready night ; I took it with me to the tower, and begged that 
all it contained might be well, and asked if what was in it 
would give me peace. What the stars answered me I do 
not know, but that unrest I did not want to take upon myself 
again. Giinderode, if I ever deserve to have thee turn from 
me, I have made atonement for it beforehand. Thy letter 
seemed to me like mist — yes, like mist ; — and then it seemed 
as if a lighted altar shone through it, and then I heard a 
whispering, like prayer in that letter ; a concentration of all 
thy mental powers, as though thou wouldst exorcise the 
spirit of sadness in me. 

When Ephraim came to-clay I was not at all inclined to 
learn; — I forgot to welcome him, although he had just re- 
turned from his journey ; but he began of his own accord to 
speak of his grandchildren ; he was sitting and I standing by 
the table ; but as he kept beaming on my silence, w r ith his soft, 
melodious words, as the soft sunset beams upon a doud, — 
the cloud dissolved by the light of the parting sun, and I had 
to weep, and dared not look upon the man whom Fate had 
ripened into beauty, whose life was holy language with the 
Divine ; what excuse could I give for appearing so ? I only 
said: do stay, when he thought I would prefer to be alone ; 
because, said I, these walls say : Thou art as nothing upon 
earth when thou art alone. But if you remain, the walls will 
open and I can look out into the distant Orient. I took his 
hand in mine which he held, and now we spoke of his chil- 
dren, for I did not want to yield so ; it is all the same about 
what one converses with him, for his being and his language 
are spiritual humanity ; and so healing is this ideal health in 
him, that one desires to drink more and more of his pure 
words. Thou sayst I shall relate a great deal about him 
— wert thou only here thyself! Day before yesterday I 
thought, just as sunset was giving way to night, and the 
pure, cold blue shone in at the windows, how infinitely de- 
lightful it would be if we three could sit together, talking 
deep into the night. He speaks of all that i- great, so cheer- 
fully, so simply, and unconditionally, as though life were 
more thoroughly spiritualized in him. And so indeed it is. I 



330 



GUND ERODE. 



gave him thy letter and told him he should interpret to me 
from that why I could not collect myself, and why it is that 
I cannot as usual find the secure haven of confidence in this 
letter, as though the entrance to thy heart were wrapt in 
mist. When he left I had become far more cheerful. The 
day before I had been on the tower, but the stars said 
nothing to me ; I only recalled my early childhood, my father, 
and how I soothed his pain. After mother had died, no one 
ventured near him, as he sat before her pictures evenings, in 
the long hall where it was dark, the lanterns from the street 
alone throwing in unsteady rays ; there I went to him, not 
out of pity, for I did not weep with him ; just as thou sayst 
in thy letter it were no pity, but energy. I have often won- 
dered at myself that I remain so cold at so-called misfortune ; 
others, upon whom it often falls heavily, cannot help, but 
they can sympathize. I cannot sympathize, but am impelled 
to pluck the thorns from the path. 

But with father it was different. I believe there may be 
moments in life, when a pure relation is established between 
God and men, so that human nature is adapted to convey 
what men call messages from God, thus performing the 
duty of angels, for I ran to father, threw my arms about 
him, and remained sitting silently upon his knees ; long ago 
as it is, and my thoughts not being fixed upon it at the time, 
I still remember the calm coldness I felt, and how the burden 
seemed to fall from the heart of my solitary father, as he 
allowed me to lead him from the room. 

Later, at the Convent in Fritzlar, when his death was 
communicated to us, the Prioress asked if we had had no in- 
dication of his death ; I said yes, I read it in the fountain. 

I was awakened at night by the moonlight, rose and fol- 
lowed a dismal way, through many dark passages, till I came 
to the fountain in the garden, because I wanted to speak with 
the soul of my father in the water. I went down every night, 
and the waves spoke to me just as the stars do now ; but they 
were spirits at that time, for I saw them floating in the air 
across the moonbeams, and sometimes down in the grass, 
or over the high yew-trees. But if thou ask me, how that 
looked which I believed I saw, I tell thee it was a feeling 
of something higher than myself, whose existence I became 
conscious of through my eyes, giving me a feeling that it 
was busied with the spirit of my own life; and that which 



GUND ERODE. 



331 



acted as medium of these apparitions, or non-apparitions, 
produced a complete want of volition, just as the soil un- 
resistingly receives the seed strewed into it. I only saw 
that these spirits crossed my vision, and there was a clear 
affirmative of their will within me, although I could not 
have translated this will into thoughts. 

Truly, I believe the spirits place the mind in the hu- 
man soul. All truth that we think is a gift, and later it 
surprises our comprehension as a thought, as the appearance 
of the blossom from the earth also surprises us. Then it is 
strange that this spirit-spell benumbs one, as it were, causing 
us to forget everything, and that for a while it seems like 
deep sleep in the soul, from which we - awake to entire 
oblivion. 

Fantasy! — what is fantasy? — is it not the gay play- 
ground to which the spirits carry thee as a happy child. Al- 
though everything is play, it is yet in relation to the secrets 
in the human breast. Men do not knaw how they receive 
the light of the mind, for this is one of the secrets of life! 
But how do I know it ? — perhaps because I had firm faith 
in them from the first, perhaps it is faith that binds the 
spirit, so that they draw closer to us. Faith is the spall 
by which we retain, and want of it expels. At Offenbach, 
with grandmamma, — it might have been two years after I 
left the Convent, — I looked about me with a dull feeling, 
as though everything were insane, — all instruction, moral 
preaching, and religious doctrine, — I overturned them all, I 
could not comprehend it as living, nor could I reject it, be- 
cause I knew nothing of life. Then too I was attracted out 
at night to a solitary distant spot, and what I experienced 
was far more distinct, far more certain ; I did not doubt for a 
moment that everything about me was narrow folly that I per- 
ceived of life, and the manner in which it was understood. No 
one could ever have awed me ; but when I saw (hoc ii became 
clear to me in thee; I never would have doubted a single 
word; on the contrary, a good deal that sounded like mystery 
seemed as though those spirits whispered it to me with thy 
tongue. It was not long before new and deep paths of light 
were opened to me ; and, as I said before, that the unformed 
mind of childhood, still familiar with the Divine adapts itself 
as a messenger of the Divine to suffering human nature, so 
may aspiring natures, whose path does not separate from 



332 



GUNDERODE. 



mind, be found a fit medium for spirits to communicate them- 
selves by words, or electric effect. Thus those spirits of my 
childish years have become communicative to me through 
thy mind. Ah, yes ; but what did I want to talk to thee 
about ? ■ — it was, that the first day after receiving thy letter 
I had nothing but such recollections, and there was no con- 
versation with the stars ; but yesterday I became very cheer- 
ful, and will here write down what I heard up there from 
them. 

u True mind is not alone ; it is w T ith the spirits ; — what it 
radiates is reflected back upon it ; — its productions are spir- 
its that reproduce it. 

" Minds are suns that shine upon each other ; light receives 
light, — light longs for light, — light is merged in light, — 
light is lost in light. Perhaps that is love. 

u What longs for light is not without brightness, for longing 
itself is light ; the rose bears its light hidden in the bud. 

" Beauty, which is sensuously perishable, has a spirit that 
will develop itself further ; the spirit of the rose ascends as 
its beauty fades. A thousand roses bloom in the soul ; the 
senses are the soil from which the beautiful blossoms in the 
soul. Soul is the ether of the senses. The rose reaches our 
breath, our sight, our feeling ! Why does the rose move the 
feelings ? Breathe its breath, and thou wilt be moved ; there 
certainly is in its existence an ecstasy peculiar to itself; truly 
this ecstasy must once have been thine, and now that thou 
breathest its breath thou feelest the spirit of the long since 
faded rose blooming on in thee. 

" What is Memory ? Memory is far deeper than mere recol- 
lecting of what we have experienced. In its changes it also 
eternally affects the mind ; it is infinite, it becomes feeling, 
then thought, — rousing the mind to passion, and as passion 
it produces mind anew. 

" Life rises from every germ of life ; life is constantly pro- 
ducing life-germs that must all blossom. All experience is 
a life-germ which memory bears in its lap." 

I know very well why I spoke of roses with the stars. 
First, I became cheerful after Ephraim was gone ; and sec- 
ondly, pink clouds were still floating in the skies when I 
came to the tower ; then I will never sigh again in depres- 
sion ; it is not my habit to pant under a burden. Dost thou 
not again and again furnish me with new w r ings, and do not 



aiJND ERODE. 



333 



the stars teach me how to use them ? and do l not bear thy 
life in my breast, and mind too ? and if I have wings, what 
will be a burden to me ? I will carry everything up to the 
sky : it will cost some sweat, but why shall I not carry bur- 
dens, if I can bear them up to heaven ? what is it to be an 
athlete and not let the globe dance on the tips of our fingers ? 

Have we not agreed to leave vulgar life beneath us? have 
we not said to one another, let us hover, and not cling to this 
or that ? and did we not found our existence upon the resolve 
that we would venture to think everything? and is he not 
frenzied who would thrust thought from his door ? does he 
not turn off a divine messenger ? why is that only mind which 
soars freely, and not that which recmires support ? Ah, in- 
deed. I am inspired to think thus ? Mists float around thee 
no more, and all brightens as I think of thee, — and if it is so, 
we will rise above the mists ; do not allow thy wings to be 
broken ; I warrant thee to keep the earth and its wrongs 
against the mind in check. What is it ? what canst thou win, 
if thou dost not venture ? and is what thou canst lose worth 
the trouble of keeping ? Thou wilt only lose what thou dost 
not venture. 

To become a hero who fears nothing, spirit flows over 
thee and makes thee an ocean. Truth tills thee, and Courage 
embraces all-compassing Wisdom. Truth says to Courage : 
break thy bonds, and they fall from him. Semblance is fear ; 
truth fears not. Fear is an ending, an extinguishing of true 
existence. Existence is the daring courage to think. Think- 
ing is the motion of God's pinion. How could divine thought 
be cast into the bondsman's chain. Is that which ye hold up 
as true, truth ? I will rise to it in thought. If I rise, it is 
to truth ; if I wear chains, I am not fettered to truth. To 
be free alone makes all things true ; what I allow myself to 
be fettered by becomes superstition. Mind and Truth live in 
one another, and constantly produce anew. Thus I have 
freed myself from fear, because fear is a lie. Courage must 
conquer what is a lie. I am again one with thee. Ah, how 
many rays are to-day reflected in my soul ! 

Adieu. I have written to Lullu that I will accompany 
them to Cassel. She writes : " for three weeks only." 

BET TINE. 



334 



GUND ERODE. 



TO GTJNDERODE. 

I have been made happy to-day in many ways, chiefly by 
really having a rose-tree in my room that some one secretly 
placed there, with twenty-seven bads ; these are just thy 
years ; I joyfully counted them, and rejoice that it should 
happen so. I look at them all ; the smallest bud, yet in its 
green swaddling-clothes, art thou, just born ; then comes the 
second, where thou hast learnt to smile and prate through 
the small, green, closed visor of thy soul ; then the third, in 
which thou hast thy freedom, and canst move alone, — then 
thy rosy lips already attract, the buds speak and open to the 
sunlight; besides, there are live or six fragrant roses, that 
pour their secrets upon the air ; this fragrance floods around 
me, and lam happy ? Who can have brought them to my 
room ? This morning, when the students came up the hill, 
all eyes were turned towards the rose-tree in the window, for 
it is a rarity at this severe season in Marburg, and I do not 
believe there are any hot-houses here. 

Ephraim has not been here, although it is his day to-day, 
which he never misses ; and in the evening, as I was about 
to go to my tower, his grandson came to say that he was not 
well. What is the matter with him ? I asked. " He is only 
weak," answered the boy; "otherwise he is well." Look at 
my beautiful rose-tree, said I. " I know it well," he replied, 
" grandfather sent it by me this morning, and as it was yet so 
early I left it before the door." Did you raise it yourself? I 
asked. " Yes ; grandfather has already made it blossom 
twice." 

I am delighted to have the rose-tree mine, and wish 
Ephraim were well again, because thou hast written that I 
may speak with him of thee ; the last time he came I was 
too much oppressed. I am afraid he thinks I am not inclined 
to learn, and so does not permit himself to come ; but I have 
asked him to do so when he is better, and sent him some old 
Madeira, which will do him good. It was beautiful on the 
tower to-day ; the air is spring-like, and the evenings mild 
and pure. I go up earlier now, as soon as the sun has set, 
and before I go home it is already starlight. I shall soon 
leave the tower, for Lullu writes she is coming on the seven- 
teenth ; thou hast bid me go with her, and I did not want to 
refuse. My life here was beautiful and full of meaning; why 



GUNDERODE. 



335 



shall I ask what has come into being within me ? My mind 
is full of secret impulses ; that is enough ; and I have not 
offended Nature, nor denied my inner voice. 

That which denies the mind dries up a spiritual spring. 
Penitence is a seeking, a re-finding of this spring, for mind 
flows from true mind. Generosity pardons, but does not 
suffer what is against the mind. Generosity is the parent- 
root of the mind, by which mind becomes substance, action. 
What is not produced by it is not virtue. 

Generosity involuntarily spreads over all ; where it is con- 
centrated we find love. 

In love, thy soul burns in the flame of generosity, else 
there is no love. By generosity alone everything becomes 
realized, for the mind only lives in it ; thus alone can love 
enrapture. 

All love is an impulse to glorify one's self. If the Deity, 
Wisdom, does not itself anoint the head of the loving one, 
placing the royal band about it, then it is not true love. 

A lover is a prince, spirits are his subjects ; where he goes 
or rests, they attend him ; they are the messengers that bear 
his own spirit over to the beloved. 

This was my yesterday's star-lesson. Since the roses blos- 
som in my room, they always speak to me of love. This 
morning I put the rose-tree into the window again before the 
students came, and watched behind the curtain if they would 
look up. One counted seventeen, the other fifteen, — just 
as many as there are to be seen ; the others are yet too small. 
I wish I could throw one down to each of them to wear in 
their caps. 

To-day Ephraim came ; he knew that I leave next week ; 
we spoke of my return, for I shall only remain away three 
weeks with Lullu. We spoke of thee, and he said much 
that was charming ; my last lines to thee he also read, and 
said we must not fear to lose what we love, because he saw 
that something in thy letter made me anxious about thee ; 
he said thou wert single in thy kind, thou hadst chosen a 
grand path, and whoever did not walk other paths than those 
laid out and appointed, was not a Poet. There are not a 
thousand Poets, there is only one, the others only chime in — ■ 
echo after. If a voice resounds, it awakens voices. He only 
is a Poet who stands above the others. The poetic spirit 
dwells in many, but is only concentrated in one, who often is 



336 



GUNDEKODE. 



not acknowledged, although he stands higher than all the rest. 
He who does not follow other paths than those already 
marked out, is not a Poet. Upon whose own hearth the fire 
does not burn to light and warm, he will find none other kindled 
for him. We can rest in mind, and be active in mind, but 
all which is not done by the mind is lost time. Justice is 
rarely done to the poetic mind ; the bold nobleness of those 
thoughts we experience as poetic, should always be heroically 
imposing. — Thus we chatted for a while, and I have not re- 
membered everything that followed. Ephraim was pale, and 
his grandson brought him a cloak. I will see him once more. 

Was on the tower to-day, but wrote nothing down ; I am 
sorry to part from it ; where else will it be so beautiful, and 
have I not to thank the stars for everything. They have 
kept their word to me. They cherished both of us, did they 
not ; and what they told me they also told thee, and by their 
care we were both more closely linked together? How will 
it be when I return ? These last four months of my life I 
could not have passed more delightfully. Was I not kindly 
received by Nature and Spirit, the two genii of my life ? 
And Ephraim. What a world I am living in. Perhaps I 
dream that I sleep, and the great minds accompany me in 
my dreams, placing themselves between the earthly world 
and me, so that I may lead a heavenly life. If I look upon 
this time, it seems like a diamond reflecting the sun a thou- 
sand times. Thou saidst from the first, " Go," and thou wert 
right; and surely thou art right too in desiring me to go to 
Cassel, therefore I do go with great confidence ; nothing must 
endure longer than the least impulse to permit it. 

You dear students ! to-day they looked up at the roses 
again, — I would like to break them all olf and throw them 
upon your heads before I go. 

Ephraim must not come up the hill again, it wearies him 
too much. It was too cold during his journey to his grand- 
children, and he over-exerted himself. Perhaps he will be 
well again when I return ; he is seventy-one years old al- 
ready, but he will get well for me ; this spring, when we meet 
on the Trages, — Savigny thinks thou wilt come there, — 
then we will write to him together, will we not? — and cheer- 
fully. This will be the last long letter I write to thee from 
here. 

Lullu brings me many greetings from thee, and says thou 



GUNDEHODE. 



337 



art glad to come to the Trages ; thy note says 60 too. She 
adds that thou art quite cheerful, so I am happy too. Oh. 
how I did torment thee by an anxiety which is not natural 
to me ! Heaven knows where it came from ; I am merry now. 
and cannot understand whence it came. I believe the win- 
ter-wind confused my head and heart. Day after to-morrow 
we leave. 

Dost thou know what I have done ? I sent word to 
Ephraim yesterday that I would come to him, and was con- 
ducted there about the hour he used to come to me ; but it 
was Friday, and when I came he sat in his chair, handsomely 
dressed, and a candlestick, with four lighted candles, stood 
upon the table. He tried to rise, but was too weak. I won- 
der if he must go home to his Fathers ? I brought him two 
gold pieces for his instruction ; and he opened a little box 
containing two wedding-rings and some other ornaments, 
which he said belonged to his deceased wife and children ; 
he put the gold pieces with them, and it was done with such 
an air of refinement and nobleness. What a spiritual mind ! 

Ephraim ! thou pleasest me infinitely. I had brought back 
his rose-tree to him, that he might nurse it for me while I 
was away ; the roses have opened much more ; how beauti- 
fully they looked, contrasted with his white beard. I said to 
him, that his beard and the roses belonged together, and I was 
glad not to have broken any of them, for he was wedded to 
the tree, it was his bride ; I was several times tempted to 
break them and throw them down to the students, because 
they looked up at them so longingly. " Oh ! " said he, " if you 
will permit me, I can easily divide them among the students ; 

1 am daily visited by some of them, and more will come, if 
they know I dispense roses." I agreed to it, and was glad 
that the students are to have my roses. 

He blessed me when I left him, and I kissed his hand ; 
how beautiful is mind when it matures so faultlessly. His 
grandson had to accompany me home at his request, as I had 
only a maid with me. I soon sent him back, telling him to 
remind his grandfather to think of me till I return. When 
I left Ephraim, he placed his hand upon my head, saying, 
" All existence develops for the Future." I went home, and 
directly up to the tower, because I wanted again distinctly 
to recall that powerful, and yet so simple, peace-beaming 
countenance, as I had just left it, in Lhe bright candle-light, 
22 



338 



GUNDERODE. 



with the roses, and Jus white beard, as I saw him for the last 
time. Does this not point to his departure from this earthly 
life, which he carried out so peacefully and cheerfully ; for 
at parting he also said to me : " You have given me much 
pleasure." After I had thought of him awhile, I recollected 
his words, "All existence is developed for the Future." 
Yes, we live upon the Future, it inspires us. The Future 
bursts from the mind, as the seed from the nourishing earth. 
Then it rises heavenward, blossoming, and bearing Light. 
The tree, the plant, is the soul of the Earth, that rises to 
the light, to the air; the soul of the Earth will wed itself to 
Light, and light develops the Future. 

All true creation, is an ascension to heaven, is to become 
immortal. Within this last hour on the tower, the beauty of 
the man rose brighter before me than ever, for the picture 
with the roses seemed as if arranged by my G enius for me to 
comprehend, as we regard the temple consecrated, within 
whose walls we know the sacrificial flame is rising. The 
temple is only then sacred to man when it represents his 
own form, and the law of God his own spirit. This he once 
said to me. 

I just saw the students go to their lecture, and they 
seemed quite surprised to find the rose-tree gone. I plainly 
saw they were sorry, for they had already counted the roses 
eight days in succession. Only wait, you will soon discover 
where it is, and then the best among you may wear my roses 
in your button-holes. bettine. 



APPENDIX. 



DER FRANKE IN EGYPTEN. 

Wie der Unmuth mir den Busen driicket, 

Wie das Gliick mich h'amisch laehelnd flieht. 

1st denn nichts, was meine Seele stillet? 

Nichts, was dieses Lebens bange Leere fiillet ? 

Dieses Sehnen, wahnt' ich, sucht die Vorwelt, 

Die. Heroenzeit ersehnt mein kranker Geist. 

An vergang'ner Grosse will diess Herz sich heben, 

Und so eilt ich deinem Strande zu, 

Du, der Vorwelt heiligste Ruine, 

Fabelhaftes Land Egypten, du ! 

Ha ! da wahnt ich aller Lasten mich entladen, 

Als der Heimath Granze ich enteilet war. 

Traumend wallt' ich mit der Vorzeit Schatten, 

Doch bald fiihlt' ich, dass ich unter Todten sei ; 

Neu bewegte sich in mir das Leben, 

Antwort konnte mir das Grab nicht geben. 

In's Gewiihl der Schlachten 

Warf ich durstig mich, 

Aber Ruhm und Schlachten 

Liessen traurig mich : 

Der Lorbeer, der die Stirne schmiickt, 

Er ist's nicht immer, der begliickt. 

Da reichte mir die Wissenschaft die Hand, 

Und folgsam ging ich nun an ihrer Seite, 

Ich stieg hinab in Pyramidennacht, 

Ich mass des Moris See, des alten Memphis Grosse : 

Und all die Herrlichkeit, die sonst mein Herz geschwellt, 

Sie reicht dem Durstigen nur der Erkenntniss Becher. 

Ich dachte, forschte nur, vergass, dass ich empfand. — 

Doch ach, die alte Sehnsucht ist erwacht, 

Auf's Neue fiihl' ich suchend ihre Macht, 



340 



APPENDIX. 



Was geb icli ihr ? Wohin soil ich mich stiirzen ? 
Was wird des Lebens lange Oeden wiirzen ? 
Ha ! sieh, ein Madehen, wie voll Anmuth, 
Wie lieblich, gut erscheint sie mir ! 
Soil ich dem Zuge widerstehen ? 
Doch nein ! ich rede kuhn zu ihr. 
1st diess der Weg der Pyramiden ? 
O, schones Madehen ! sag' es mir ! 

Madehen. 

Du bist nicht auf dem Weg der Pyramiden, 
O Fremdling ! doch ich zeiof ihn dir. 

Franke. 

Brennend sengt die heisse Mittagssonne, 
Jede Blume neigt das scheme Haupt, 
Aber du, der Blumen Schonste, hebest 
Jung und frisch das braun gelockte Haupt. 

Madehen. 

Willst du in des Vaters Hiitte dich erkuhlen ? 
Komm, es nimmt der Greis dich gerne auf. 

Franke. 

Welchen Namen tragst du, schones Madehen ? 
Und dein Vater ; sprich, wo wohnet der ? 

Madehen. » 

Lastrata heiss ich ; und mein guter Yater 
Er wohnt mit mir im kleinen Palmenthal ; 
Doch nicht des Thales angenehme Kuhle, 
Nicht Bache murmeln, nicht der Sonne Kreisen 
Erfreuet meinen guten 'Vater mehr. 

Franke. 

Wie ! freut den Yater nicht des Strornes Quellen, 
Der Palmen lindes Fruhlingssauseln nicht ? 
Ich fass es; doch wie es einen Gram mag geben, 
Der deiner Trostung mouhte widerstreben, 
Das nur, Lastrata, fass ich nicht. 

Madehen. 

Italien ist das Vaterland des Greisen, 

Und vieles Ungluck bracht' ihn nur hierher. 

Mit sehnsuchtsvollem Blick schaut er am Mittelmeere 

Hiniiber in das vielgeliebte Land. 



APPENDIX. 



341 



Und seufzend sehn' anch ich hiniiber 

Nach jenen bliithenreichen Kiisten mich. 

Erkranket ruht mein Geist auf jener blauen Feme, 

Und schone Traume tragen mich dahin. 

Sag', wogt nicht schoner dort der Strom des Lebens ? 

Sehnt dort die kranke Brust sich auch vergebens ? 

Franke. 

Madchen ! Ach ! von gleichem Wunsch betrogen, 
Wahnt' ich : Schones berg' die Feme nur, 
Doch umsonst umsegelt ich die Wogen, 
Hat auch diese Ahnung mir gelogen, 
Die du, Madchen, jetzt in mir erweckt. — 

Madchen. 

Fremdling ! kannst du diese Sehnsucht deuten ? 
Fiihlst du dieses unbestimmte Leiden ? 
Dieses Wiinschen ohne Wunsch V 

Franke. 

Ja, ich fuhP ein Sehnen, fiihl' ein Leiden, 
Doch jetzt kann ich diese Wiinsche deuten, 
Und ich weiss, was dieses Streben will. 
Nicht an fernen Uf'ern, nicht in Schlachten ! 
Wissenschaften, nicht an eurer Hand, 
Nicht im bunten Land der Phantasien ! 
Wohnt des durstigen Herzens Sattigung. 
Liebe muss dem miiden Pilger winken, 
Myrthen keimen in dem Lorbeerkranz, 
Liebe muss zu Heldenschatten fiihren, 
Muss uns reden aus der Geisterwelt. — 
Macht'ger Strom ! ich fiihlte deine AVogen, 
Unbewusst fuhlt ich mich hingezogen. 
Nur wohin ! wohin ! — das wusst 1 ich nicht, 
Wohl mir ! dich und mich hab' ich gefunden, 
Liebe hat dem Chaos sich entwunden. 



342 



APPENDIX. 



THE FRANK IN EGYPT. 

How my bosom is oppressed by languor, 

And how Fortune flies with treacherous smile. 

Is there nothing that my sad soul stilleth ? 

Nothing, that the vagueness of life filleth ? 

'Tis, thought I, the yearning for past ages, 

For the day of heroes longs my spirit, 

My heart seeks to throb in bygone greatness. 

Thus I sped to reach thy distant strand, 

Holiest ruin of those distant ages, 

Land of fables, thou ! O Egypt, thou ! 

Ha ! I thought all suffering had ended 

When I saw the shores of home grow distant. 

Dreaming roved I, midst those silent shadows 

But soon felt, I was among the dead. 

Life sprang up anew within my bosom, 

And those shadows never solved the question. — - 

In the din of battles 

Then I fiercely plunged ; 

But the fight for glory 

Left me melancholy. 

The laurel fair that crowns the brow, 

Not always happy makes, I trow. 

Then Science held me out her hand ; 

I wandering by her side obediently 

Descended to the night of Pyramids; 

Measured the Sea of Moeris and old Memphis might. 

All the grandeur that once swelled my bosom, 

Only gave to me the cup of knowledge, 

I but thought and searched, forgetting that I felt. — 

Alas ! that ancient longing wakes anew, 

Anew I feel it in its strength while searching. 

What must I give it ? whither shall I fly ? 

What will relieve that long drear road of Life ? — 

Ah ! see a Maiden ! full of beauty 

And lovely, good she seems to be ! 

Must I resist th' desire ? 

But no ! I'll boldly speak to her. — 

Leadeth this path unto the Pyramids 

O, Maid of beauty, pray thee, tell ? 

Maiden. 

This path leads thee not to the Pyramids, 
O Stranger ! but I'll show it thee. 



APPENDIX. 



343 



Prank* 

Burning withers yonder noonday sun, 
Every flower droops its lovely head. 
But thou, loveliest of flowers, thou 
Bearest high thy head of auburn curls. 

Maiden. 

If thou'lt rest thee in rny father's cottage ; 
Come, my father gladly greets a stranger. 

Frank. 

By what name call I thee beauteous Maiden 
And thy father, speak, where dwelleth he? 

Maiden. 

I'm called Lastrata : and my good old father 

Dwelleth yonder in that vale of palms: 

Not, alas ! the coolness of the valley, 

Not the rushing stream, nor morn, nor evening, 

My good father now delighteth more. 

Frank. 

How ! is not thy father pleased by rolling rivers. 
Not by the palm-tree's waving in the breeze ? 
I see it ; but that there should be a pain. 
To lessen which thy solace proves in vain, 
Lastrata, that I may not comprehend. 

Maiden. 

My father's home is distant Italy, 

And great misfortunes only brought him hither ; 

He strains his longing eyes on yonder shore 

To view his much-loved home. 

And, sighing, I too long to see 

Those shores adorned by richest bloom. 

My sickening spirit rests on the blue waste, 

And on I'm borne on wings, on blisstul dreams. 

Say, flows not fairer there the stream of life ? 

Yearns ever there the longing heart in vain ? 

Frank. 

Maid ! I too, impelled by that same longing, 

1 dreamed of beauty in the distance only, 
But in vain I crossed the foaming billows 
Once more I'm deceived by my forebodings, 
By thee, Maiden, wakened in my heart. 



344 



APPENDIX. 



Maiden. 



Stranger ! canst these sufferings explain, 
Feelest thou that undefined pain — 
This wishing, all without a wish. 



Yes, I feel thy longing, know thy pain, 
And may now thy wishes all explain, 
Full well know I whither flies thy soul ! 
Not on distant strands and not in battles ; 
Ye Sciences, within your realm 'tis not ; 
Not in the gay land of my Fantasies, 
Is that which satisfies my empty heart. 
Love must be the goal of weary pilgrims, 
And the myrtle twine in laurel crowns ; 
Love must lead us to the land of heroes, 
Love must speak to us from spirit-worlds. 
Mighty stream ! full well I feel thy current, 
Unconsciously I've floated in thy torrent. 
Whither ! whither ! oh, I knew it not : 
But 'tis well for thee and me IVe found, 
Love is no longer unto. Chaos bound. 



Frank. 




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